


Waiting for a Happy Ending

by Firefly_Ca



Series: Happy Ending AU [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Dark, Bullying, Child Abuse, Drug Use, Gen, Homophobia, Inspired by Real Events, Internalized Homophobia, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Abuse, Mildly Dubious Consent, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Rape Recovery, Self-Medicating, Sexual Abuse, Sexually Transmitted Diseases, Victim-blaming, discussion of self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 05:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 103,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firefly_Ca/pseuds/Firefly_Ca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Blaine Anderson lived under another name for almost nine years with an abusive man he was forced to pretend was his father. He always thought his own family had given up on him, but now that he's found out the majority of his life was spent believing a lie, he has to try to reconcile the life he had with the life that was taken away from him. Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/587956/chapters/1057087">Looking for a Happy Ending</a>. WARNING: READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE YOU READ THE FIC. THE STORY DID NOT GET ITS RATING FOR FUN REASONS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> General note for the fic: I am not a trauma specialist, a psychologist, a doctor, a police officer, a lawyer, ~~a baker, a candlestick-maker~~. I have never adopted anyone. I did a LOT of research before writing this fic to try to get my facts as accurate as possible, but having said that, don't expect them to be accurate, please. Having said THAT, anything that IS accurate is due to the invaluable help of many people who answered my pleas, and are listed at the start of each section of this story on [my LiveJournal](http://firefly-ca.livejournal.com/54762.html). The list would be very long if I replicated it in its entirety, but know that they are all rock stars.
> 
> Special special thanks goes to [Callmerayray/momentsofweakness](http://momentsofweakness.tumblr.com/) and [Loony Levicorpus](http://acklesbooty.tumblr.com/) for betaing the crappy parts of this mammoth story into submission, and dealing with my writer drama in general.

**Some Day**  
  
 _For most people it would be strange to walk into a room knowing that everyone knows your life story. Everyone knows about Blaine Anderson, even though he usually wishes they didn't. He's married to someone who's quickly becoming a fashion icon – a moderately successful Broadway actor who's somehow become better known for what he wears leaving the theatre at the end of the night than the performance he puts on inside. Blaine's never seen so many style blogs pay so much attention to a man before, especially because they genuinely seem to like a lot of what Kurt ends up wearing. It's gotten him so much free publicity he's started to land bigger roles, and has even been approached to audition for TV shows, once it was established that he wasn't popular because he was one of those Train Wreck celebrities. Blaine still hasn't worked out how that ended up coming about, but he supposes all the friends in high places don't hurt. Kurt's biggest fans have always had a lot of influence. Kurt Hummel is an inspiration to kids who feel like they don't fit. When the world said it didn't have a place for him, Kurt made his own. Lately the media seems to have latched onto the idea that Kurt is some sort of living embodiment of the Gay American Dream: work hard, dream big, love glitter, and you can achieve anything.  
  
People do not think this about Blaine Anderson. For Blaine they reserve looks of slightly uncomfortable acceptance and hushed reverence as they speak with him and try not to ask about decades old news stories they heard growing up. They don't see him as a successful adult with a passion for children's rights and an advocate for the adoption of "problem" children; to them he's still a little boy whose face still shows up in undying email forwards, that pray for the safe return of missing children years after the searches have stopped. Sometimes he feels like giving up and not going to any more fundraisers to make speeches about kids in need only to spend the evenings being whispered about behind napkins while he pretends not to hear:  
  
"Oh my God, this must be so hard for him. He's so brave."  
  
"I remember once when I ran off in a mall and my mother spent the next 2 weeks telling me I would become the next Blaine Anderson if I didn't stay in her line of sight at all times."  
  
"You've heard about how he met his husband right? You have to wonder...obviously they're in love and I'm happy for them, but...how healthy do you think a relationship can be when it began in the middle of something like that?"  
  
"Do you think he's really even gay? I know that's a terrible thing to say, but how can you not ask? Maybe it's just easier to pretend."  
  
On some level, Blaine knows that the whispers that refuse to die are partially his fault. He married someone in the spotlight, and he doesn't shy away from it himself. He likes feeling like he's making a difference and helping others, so he willingly offers his name to things that need to be noticed. But sometimes he wishes helping others didn't keep him locked in the past as much as it does.  
  
Sometimes he wishes he was more than just the seven-year-old who vanished, more than just the 16-year-old who came back. For as much as people like to speculate and horrify themselves thinking about those 9 years, Blaine wishes a few more understood that he's more than a sequence of events discussed in hushed voices so that small ears can't hear, and a childish face on the evening news.  
  
Blaine Anderson is not a victim. Blaine Anderson is not a hero. Blaine Anderson is not a sociopath doing whatever it takes to keep his name in lights, a surprisingly popular theory.   
  
"Blaine is Blaine," Kurt shrugs once when an interviewer asks yet again about how the relationship works. "I accept him for who he is and not the person people talk about. He does the same for me. It's working out well for us."  
  
Blaine Anderson is more than his circumstances. His life didn't stop when he ran away from Tom Brenner, that's when it started._  
  
***  
  
 **For Now**  
  
The first few days with his parents are confusing, disorienting, and completely terrifying. There are several times Blaine catches himself wishing that he had run away when he had the chance. He'd been expecting things to be hard, but he hadn't expected it to be painful as well. And it  _is_  painful talking to his parents, and trying to understand them and be close to them. He loves his mom and dad, and even though he's not used to the idea, he can tell that they certainly love him too, but somehow all that does is make everything more painful and confusing, even before they leave the hospital.  
  
It shouldn't have been that big of a deal, but when Detective Carter pokes her head inside Blaine's room not long after his parents arrive and says that Stevie wants to say goodbye before he leaves to go back home, it doesn't take long for Blaine to realize why it was a mistake to let the Andersons find him. Stevie comes tearing into the room and carefully climbs up on the bed next to Blaine. His hands are wrapped with gauze and he has Horton stuffed underneath an arm.  
  
"My mom and dad said you can't live with us because your mom and dad want you back too much to share with anyone else," Stevie says, talking like there's no one else in the room at all. Mr. and Mrs. Evans trail in after him, awkwardly introducing themselves to Blaine's parents. Their words are muffled over the sound of Stevie's chatter.  
  
"We really wanted to thank you in person for everything you did," Mrs. Evans says, when she glances over to see Blaine watching them out of the corner of his eye. "I know you were already talking to Sam earlier but we needed to say it, too. Thank you so much for getting Stevie away from that man."  
  
Blaine shrugs, feeling his face go bright red. He really wishes they didn't feel the need to mention where they've been all this time in front of his parents. It's not that he thinks his mom and dad don't know where he was and what was happening to him, but he really doesn't want to be anywhere near them when people are talking about it.  
  
"Are those your parents?" Stevie asks, staring hard at his mother and father. Blaine confirms this.  
  
"Are you  _sure_  you need him?" he asks them. "Because you've never had a teenager before but my mom and dad have one just like him. They already know what to do."  
  
"Stevie!" Mr. Evans snorts, a little embarrassed but mostly just amused. "He's not a hamster, it doesn't work that way, you know that."  
  
Stevie pouts a little, obviously annoyed at the way things are turning out before he tries again. At this rate Blaine would not be surprised to see him grow up to become a used car salesman.  
  
"Do you want a trade?" he asks. "My sister Stacy is 6, she's not here right now because Sam's friend Quinn is looking after her until we get back to Ohio, but she's a good enough sister. You'd probably like her."  
  
This gets him  _another_  rebuke from his parents and Blaine is trying not to laugh until his mother smiles sweetly at Stevie and answers,  
  
"Thank you very much for your offer Steven, but don't you think you would miss her? Besides, you may not believe me, but a six-year-old sister is a very good thing to have. Blaine already has one, so we couldn't take away yours."  
  
"What?" Blaine says, very quietly. He feels like someone has punched him.   
  
His mom looks at him and smiles a little nervously as she reaches out to hold his hand.  
  
"We wanted to tell you as soon as possible," she says. "So you had time to get used to the idea? Her name is Cynthia. We're having a neighbour pick her up from school today, but she's going to be so excited to meet you. She's grown up hearing so many stories about you."  
  
"I have a sister?" Blaine says, still trying to sort out what's being said to him. He doesn't know why this is upsetting to him, but it really,  _really_  is. Maybe it's because he never knew she existed but she's already so close to the age he was when he left. Maybe it's because she probably knows more about his life than he does. Maybe it's because he feels unnecessary now, like he's been replaced.  
  
"Sisters aren't as good as brothers," Stevie says, consolingly, like this must be why Blaine looks so unnerved. "But I guess they aren't too bad. For girls."  
  
"Stevie," Mrs. Evans says, glancing at the extremely tense family in the room with them. "I think we should go now. You remember what we talked about, right? You can give each other phone numbers so you can talk when Blaine's feeling a little better, but right now he has a lot of catching up to do with his family, okay? It's time to say goodbye."  
  
Stevie pulls his mother's phone from her bag and fumbles with it with his bandaged hands before making a noise of frustration and handing it back again, "You do it, Mom. My hands are too slow."  
  
He looks at Blaine expectantly and asks,  
  
"What's your phone number?"  
  
"I...I don't know," Blaine says, and he feels lost and disoriented all over again. "I don't remember."  
  
His dad clears his throat a little and tells them the number as Mrs. Evans dutifully adds it to her contact list. Blaine grabs the piece of paper with Kurt's number scrawled across it.  
  
"Da – " he starts before catching himself and correcting, "Tom threw my cell phone at a wall before we left Ohio, but if someone has a pen or something, I can write your number down next to this one."  
  
Mr. Evans pulls a pen from his pocket and crosses the room to hand it to Blaine. Blaine takes it and very pointedly does not look at his parents as he writes down the numbers. He doesn't want to see the looks on their faces right now. The tension eases a little when his mom says, quietly,  
  
"You're not too bad at writing with your other hand. Your grandfather was a little ambidextrous, too."  
  
He's been feeling so displaced around them that just the idea that he's got something to connect him to his family still, after all this time, makes his eyes sting a little.   
  
"Okay Stevie," Mr. Evans says as he takes the pen back from Blaine. "Time to go."  
  
Suddenly Stevie is rising up on the bed and wrapping his arms around Blaine's neck, hugging tightly. It's the first time Stevie's ever willingly let himself get so close when he's not trying to hide away from someone. Blaine relaxes a little as he lets himself hug back. Stevie at least will be alright. It's nice to know that's one thing that doesn't feel completely wrong in this.  
  
Stevie holds out Horton when he pulls away.  
  
"You take him," he says. "He's yours."  
  
"Thanks," Blaine says faintly, setting Horton down on the table next to the phone numbers as he waves goodbye to Stevie and his parents. He wishes they weren't going. It's awkward when they're in here, but at least he doesn't have to wallow in all the ways he's not what his parents wanted to find when there's someone else in the room. For a few minutes after the door closes it's just quiet, but then he notices that his mom isn't holding his hand anymore and he looks up.  
  
She's holding onto one of his dad's hands with both of hers and she's looking at him with so much concern it scares Blaine a little. For a second he wonders if they're going to tell him that they've changed their minds and this won't work, but then his eyes snap to his father when he chokes out,  
  
"You kept that?"  
  
His dad looks the way Blaine felt a few minutes ago when he found out he was a brother, so he follows where his dad is looking and sees Horton. He winces a little, because the more he thinks about it, the more he knows the toy could never have come from his parents it was just one more thing Tom used to keep him in line.  
  
"I..." he starts, faltering a little because it's obvious that for whatever reason just looking at the stupid thing is killing his dad. "I guess Stevie took it when we left, because he thought I wanted it. I always thought it was something you bought for me before he took me away."  
  
His dad looks at him, so startled that somehow Blaine feels like he's the one who should be jumping.  
  
"He used to tell me that you all knew each other," Blaine stammers. "And I can sort of remember asking you for it, and then Tom helping me get it because he said that was what you wanted. Which was obviously the biggest lie and I was really stupid for believing him. I...I don't know. Maybe I should just leave it here."  
  
"No," says his mother, abruptly. "Bring it with you. I was always so scared while you were gone that you were alone in the dark and more scared than I was. I like that you had something that helped you remember your family."  
  
There's another knock on the door and Detective Warren comes back in. Blaine fights back the sudden desire he feels to go live with her if she'll have him. He thinks it would be much easier than any of his other options at the moment.  
  
"Sorry to interrupt," she says. "I just wanted to let you know that we're going to start getting ready for the rest of you to leave as well. We're arranging an alternative route out of the hospital for you. The news has gotten a hold of the story and we don't want to throw you out right into the middle of a swarm of camera crews when you leave."  
  
Blaine hadn't been expecting to be leaving the safety of the hospital so soon. He doesn't think he's ready to leave the distractions of all the people coming in and out, acting as buffers between him and these two people who he doesn't know how to talk to without hurting. He doesn't want to leave Detective Warren, or he wishes he was going back with Mr. Hummel. Anything to get him away from all this. And now he has another problem that he has no idea how to fix without making the pain in his parents' eyes worse.  
  
"Detective Warren?" He asks, forcing the words out. "I really need to talk to you about something."  
  
"What is it?" She asks.  
  
Blaine just looks down, running his hand nervously across his cast.  
  
"I sort of need to talk to  _you_  about something," he says.  
  
"I see," she says before calmly addressing his mother and father. "That probably works better anyhow. My partner is waiting outside to explain the most discreet way to get to your car, and to give some contact information for the Westerville police department. They'll need to meet with Blaine at least a couple more times to go over everything that's happened while he's been away."  
  
"You're not going to be the one talking to me?" Blaine asks, fear gripping him so tightly he stops registering the hurt looks on his parents' faces as he tries to push them away. Blaine trusts Detective Warren, he feels like he can handle the questions when she's the one asking them. He doesn't know if he can deal with talking to someone new.  
  
Detective Warren is wearing her professional smile again, like she knows exactly what he's worried about and has prepared herself for this part.  
  
"Your case is complicated, Blaine," she says. "What happened to you occurred over several jurisdictions, not just here. I assure you, we are all fully committed to working together on this to make sure Brenner goes to jail, but there's going to be a lot of officers involved, trying to keep everything straight."  
  
"How many people will interview me?" Blaine asks, weakly.  
  
"I imagine they'll try to keep the number down to one or two officers," she says. "It'll be less confusing that way. Likely it's going to be someone from Westerville, since that's where you live."  
  
She pauses briefly, obviously debating how much she should tell him before continuing.  
  
"I  _have_  put in a request that I continue to be your contact point, for the interviews if nothing else, but we're pretty far from your home right now. I don't know if it will be approved."  
  
"But you asked?" Blaine says.   
  
"If they give me the go ahead I would be more than happy to find a nice hotel in Westerville to hole up in for a few days."  
  
"Thank you," Blaine says, looking awkwardly at his parents when he calms down enough to register that they haven't even moved yet. Fortunately Warren is on top of that, too.  
  
"Mr. and Mrs. Anderson?" she says. "My partner is just outside in the hallway if you wanted to speak with him."  
  
They leave reluctantly, like they're afraid Blaine will disappear the second they take their eyes off him. As soon as the door shuts Blaine feels himself wilt. He brings a hand up to his eyes and notices he's started shaking a little again.  
  
"Blaine?" Detective Warren questions. "You alright?"  
  
"Not yet, I don't think," he manages. "Thank you. I needed to ask..."  
  
His throat closes up a little and he has to clear it before he tries again.  
  
"It's Jason and Diane, right?"  
  
Detective Warren looks confused for a second and then horrified when she realizes what he's asking.  
  
"Yeah," Blaine says. "That's why I didn't want them in here when I asked. I mean, I was pretty sure, but then they introduced themselves to the Evanses and I couldn't quite make out what they were saying. I was just scared I was wrong. I never would have been able to look at them again if I screwed it up."  
  
"No," Detective Warren says. "You're right. Jason and Diane Anderson."   
  
"Still think I can do this?" Blaine asks, smiling at her sarcastically.  
  
She refuses to rise to the bait and just looks at him dead serious as she says,  
  
"Of course, but I never said it would be easy."  
  
***  
  
Despite how easily he fell into looking after Stevie when they were locked up in a bedroom together, Blaine doesn't have much experience around kids. He supposes if his little sister were scared or hurt or alone and in trouble, he could probably look after her too, but Cynthia is just a regular, slightly hyperactive kid.   
  
It's getting late in the afternoon when they pull up to a house in a nicer Westerville neighbourhood. Blaine thinks there are parts of the place that seem familiar. He looks at the tree in the front yard and has a brief flash of a memory of climbing around in its branches, but it's a young tree, still growing fast, and the branches he remembers are too high off the ground to clamber onto anymore. The house is impressive – comfortably sized and probably very expensive, Blaine realizes, when he looks at the large, immaculately landscaped yard, sunny bay windows on the main floor, and sliding doors leading out onto a balcony on the second. He looks at it hard from the backseat and tries to remember. Small details leap out at him, flashes of some sort of sense memory as he looks at the balcony and remembers the heat on his back as he played on it in the summer, or the smell of the lawn after his dad had taken out the mower.  
  
"It's the same house, isn't it?" he finally says, sensing his parents watching him. He's been silent for most of the trip, speaking only when they ask him a question and answering in as few words as possible. He's not trying to be rude, he's just in so far over his head he's not sure what he should be saying to these people. He wishes he knew how to talk to them but there just aren't words to articulate the feelings he has inside fighting to make their way out. At one point his mother reaches into the backseat and puts her hand on his knee, squeezing tightly. He hesitantly moves away after a few moments, taking her hand into his own before she can pull away. He feels stupid, but there's something about being able to touch her again, to watch her thumb as it runs up and down the back of his hand, that makes his heart race. It makes everything real, like proof that this is really happening and they aren't another dream.  
  
Now his mother pulls away to point at one of the second-story windows.  
  
"Same house. That's your room right there," she says and then his dad is opening his door and climbing out of the car saying,  
  
"It looks like we've already got company. I'll park later."  
  
Blaine doesn't know what he's talking about at first, but then he notices the door to the house next door hanging open and a couple people looking hesitantly out. A small girl is tearing down the steps and running towards him. Her hair is pulled up into a messy ponytail. It's dark and curly, chaotic like his own. Like their mother's, he realizes, but doesn't have time to think about it before there's a small head peering into the backseat, mouth going a mile a minute, like an over-excitable, yappy miniature poodle.  
  
"Is he here? Is that him? Daddy make him come out so I can see?" she's saying and her voice is tiny and enormous all at once, piercing through Blaine's raw nerves. Blaine thinks he might want to stay in the car until she goes away, in case she tries to attack him or something.  
  
"She's very excited about this," his mother says, semi-apologetically but mostly just fondly. "She's wanted to see you her whole life. For a while there you were almost sacred to her."  
  
"Like Jesus?" Blaine asks absently, still looking at the girl dancing around her father's legs, making no move to get out of the car.  
  
"Sacred to a kid," his mother corrects. "More like Santa or Willy Wonka."  
  
"Is she going to hurt me if I don't have presents or candy?" Blaine asks, forgetting for a moment that he doesn't know her well enough to make fun of her daughter, but she just laughs.  
  
"I doubt it," she says. "I think your appeal is mainly as a brother. Of course, I'm not entirely sure what she thinks brothers can do, so if you can't fly or control things with your mind, she may be disappointed."  
  
Blaine smiles at her, pleasantly surprised at how easily she jokes back, and the look on her face makes him think that she's just as pleased with him, but then his sister starts knocking on the door. Or maybe hammering is a better way of putting it, and as his dad leaps forward to save the car his mother shakes her head in exasperation and says,  
  
"We'd better get out before she's stuck paying auto body bills from her allowance until she goes to college."  
  
Blaine takes a breath and slowly crawls out of the car after his parents. The drive has made him stiff and his sides are aching through the pain medication. The little girl – his sister – is now dancing circles around him as well.  
  
"Are you my brother?" she asks, hopping from one foot to another as she cranes her neck unnecessarily to get a better look at his face. "You're Blaine, right? Why don't you look like your pictures? Is it because you've been gone for 60 years? You're really old, right? Like, you're really older than me, but we're still brother and sister. Why are you so old? What happened to your arm? Did the bad man break it? Mom and Dad always say you got taken away by a bad man and if a bad man ever takes me I need to kick and scream and even bite if I have to, because they don't want the bad men to get me. Did you bite anyone? You should have bit someone. People put you back when there's biting. My cat bites sometimes, too. Do you like cats? I love cats, especially  _my_  cat. Her name is Mrs. Frisby and she's the best cat in the world, even if she kicks the litter out of the box sometimes."  
  
Blaine mentally amends his assessment of "slightly hyperactive" to just "hyperactive" as his little sister chatters on, not particularly caring if she hears his answers or not. He feels nervous standing out on the sidewalk like this. From their house, the neighbours Cynthia had been staying with are watching uncertainly, like they don't know if they should come say hello or not. Clearly they're conflicted about what the proper etiquette is in this kind of situation. Even worse is the crawling feeling running along the back of his neck, like there are people watching him just out of eyesight – hiding behind curtains and peeking out from bedroom windows. He feels like he's on display and as much as he wants to go inside and hide, he can't just go into the house without some sort of invitation. It's not his home anymore; it's not his to walk into.  
  
Cynthia breaks the spell when she pulls demandingly on Blaine's good hand and says,  
  
"Do you want to go to the park with me?"  
  
"Right now?" Blaine asks.  
  
"Trevor from school says that his big brother takes him to the park and that's all he's good for," she says. "You don't even do that, and I asked Mom why did I even need a brother if he's not going to take me to the park but she said you would when you came home."  
  
She looks at him pointedly.  
  
"You're here now."  
  
"Blaine's been very sick, sweetie," his dad says, finally deciding Cynthia's not going to be calming down any time soon and stepping in to start deflecting her energy away from Blaine, whose head feels like it's starting to spin trying to keep up with her. "He's very tired and he's very sore."  
  
He looks at Blaine cautiously, like he's seeking out confirmation.  
  
"I think maybe your brother would just like to take the pills the doctor gave him and sleep for a while?"  
  
"Is that okay?" Blaine asks, because slipping off into a drug-induced stupor sounds five different kinds of awesome right now.  
  
"And then the park?" Cynthia asks.   
  
Apparently this is a big deal because when her mother says, "Maybe not right away, Cynthia. Soon," Cynthia's face grows dark and she mutters, "a real brother would take me  _now_."  
  
His mom rolls her eyes and starts to herd Cynthia into the house, gently reaching out to Blaine and pushing on his shoulder blades, urging him to come with them. He wonders if it's creepy that a very large part of him wants her to never stop touching him like that. He remembers that Carole is like this too, always touching Kurt and Finn almost unconsciously, and how even Kurt will relax into her touch after a while. Blaine supposes that maybe it's a mother thing.  
  
Blaine registers the interior of the house in disjointed fragments. There's an entryway and living room, a hallway and a door that for some reason he immediately knows leads to a study. There's a stairway lined with pictures he doesn't bother looking at, and another hallway. Blaine hears the sound of a tap running in the kitchen somewhere beneath him, and then his mother is opening the door to a bedroom. He remembers this space – more than he thought he would. The bed still is one for a small child, a twin mattress and a low frame. Blaine can see the marks in the wood that bear the evidence of a removed guardrail. He wonders if he was still there when it was taken off, if he was prone to falling out of the bed up until the time he was taken.  
  
His mother is talking, saying something in an apologetic voice about how the place is still so child-oriented.  
  
"It didn't feel right to move any of it out without you here," she says. "We can work through it when you're feeling a little better."  
"I'm sort of tired," Blaine admits and there's movement in the doorway and his dad is coming in with a glass of water and a pill bottle from the hospital, some clothes tucked under his arm.  
  
"They told us you were in pretty rough shape the last few weeks with him," he seems as reluctant to say Tom's name as Blaine is. No one really wants the idea of him inside the house. "We were expecting that you'd want to sleep it off a little."  
  
He holds out the water and pain medication, opening the bottle and shaking out a pill when he looks again at Blaine's immobile arm. He hands Blaine the clothes with an apologetic expression.  
  
"I don't know if these will fit too well," he admits. "They're some old pyjamas of mine, but they should give you some room to manoeuvre with that cast, and there's not really much else for you to wear. We'll have to go shopping with you as soon as you're up to it."  
  
Blaine smiles weakly at him, feeling like he's joining a marathon five hours after the starting gun, and stands there a little awkwardly before asking where the bathroom is. He's too tired to even feel very guilty about how sad his mother looks as she tells him the way. He's asleep almost as soon as his head touches the pillow.

***

His dad drags him out shopping right away, as promised, and it's a new and mortifying experience for Blaine to walk into a store and have literally everyone there stop what they are doing and try to get a better look at him. Even people who don't pay attention to the news get in on it, because everyone else is acting like he's famous. One woman goes takes a picture of him with her cell phone until her friend frantically pulls her hand back down and whispers urgently into her ear. They leave shortly after.  
  
"Idiots," his dad mutters as he watches them go.  
  
"How can they even tell who I am?" Blaine wonders a little later when they're headed into yet another store. "It's not like they have a new picture of me."  
  
"Unfortunately they do," his dad says, sounding frustrated. "I guess someone from that last high school you were at has a blog or something, and he stole a picture of you off of someone's Facebook account. The press got it from there."  
  
"Oh," Blaine says. " _That_  kid. He's an asshole. I don't know why everyone cares so much."  
  
"Kids don't tend to come back when they've been missing as long as you have, and with the other little boy involved, people are making a big deal of things. You got him back to his family. It makes you a hero."  
  
About an hour and a half later Blaine wants to scream and go hide in the corner and he can tell his dad is feeling the same way. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to get used to people's shell-shocked expressions as they recognize him and start talking to each other about him like he's not there.  
  
"One more store," his dad promises. "Anything we don't have yet we can figure out later."  
  
They're about to enter the store when Blaine hears someone calling his name.  
  
"Just ignore them," his dad says softly, pressing on his back so he doesn't slow down. "They'll get the idea and leave you alone if you don't acknowledge them."  
  
Blaine thinks that sounds like an excellent idea and is taking his father's advice when he hears the voice call out again and suddenly something about it strikes him as familiar.  
  
"Hang on," he says, and cautiously turns around.  
  
It takes him a minute to place them without their uniforms on but as soon as he does he looks around to see if Kurt is somewhere close by.  
  
"Hey," he says, nodding at trio as they excitedly make their way over.  
  
"I'm glad you stopped," David says, smiling warmly. "Thad noticed you from the other side of the food court and we wanted to see how you were doing. Kurt's been going out of his mind since you left."  
  
He glances at Blaine's dad and puts his hand out in greeting.  
  
"I'm David," he says as he gestures at the other two. "These are my friends Wes and Thad."  
  
"I'm Blaine's father," his dad says. "Which I'm guessing you already know."  
  
"David, Wes, and Thad go to Dalton Academy," Blaine explains. "One of my friends from my last high school, Kurt Hummel – you met his dad in Morgantown? He transferred to Dalton and I came to Westerville a few times to visit him."  
  
His dad's eyes rapidly shift as he puts the pieces together. Blaine knows that he's been told almost everything that the police know about how he got away, so the fact that Tom ran because Blaine went back to Westerville is nothing new. He still looks a little sick though, Blaine isn't sure why.  
  
"Dalton Academy?" he says, looking at Blaine a little stupidly.  
  
"You know it?" Blaine asks, and his dad looks tired again as he runs his hand over his face.  
  
"Your mother's dad went there," he says. "He helped us buy a home in Westerville specifically so that he could arrange for you to go there. He didn't take it very well when we had to tell him we wanted to put you through public school instead."  
  
"What's wrong with Dalton?" Blaine asks, choosing to focus on that rather than how fucking close he'd gotten to his family without even knowing.  
  
"Your grandfather practically had to have an arranged marriage he was so bad around women," his dad grins, fondly. "He was absolutely useless around them until your mother came along. We wanted to do you a favour and give you the opportunity to grow up without being terrified of the opposite sex."  
  
Blaine tries to ignore the queasy sensation stirring up inside of him as Thad reassuringly tells his father,  
  
"Oh no, Mr. Anderson, Dalton has taken great strides to ensure they don't have to arrange marriages for their students anymore. We have a sister academy and they give us classes and everything."  
  
He sounds suspiciously earnest and, frankly, dorky, in that oddly specific way that only seems to happen when the Warblers are directly involved. Blaine scans the bags the three are holding for a second before blurting out,  
  
"Are those things filled with  _ties_?"  
  
"There was a sale on," Wes says, defensively. "Dalton only replaces the uniforms when a student grows out of them, the ties never get switched out. The Warblers can't perform with faded ties, Blaine."  
  
"Right," Blaine says, incredulously. "Of course not."  
  
"What was  _that_  about?" his dad asks a few minutes later after the boys have moved on, promising to tell Kurt they'd run into him.  
  
"It's a show choir thing," Blaine says, shrugging. "Some schools just really get into it."  
  
"I have trouble picturing that Burt Hummel guy raising a kid so worried about his ties," his dad says, and he's obviously trying to make a joke, but it makes Blaine want to cry a little. It's obvious that his parents have decided he's going to be straight without bothering to ask. He's not sure if that's a bad sign or not.  
  
"He cares about the competition, too," Blaine manages. "He just doesn't talk like the queen of England or a 1950s housewife when he gets worked up about it."  
  
He chooses not to mention that Kurt gets worked up about his ties whether show choirs are involved or not, or of course that Blaine has made out with him and enjoyed himself thoroughly while doing so. That little piece of information may not be coming up in conversation until a few years after he's moved out, and since he's making up for lost time at the moment, he's not looking to do that until his mid 20s. Until then he'll just try not to hear when his parents say something potentially politically incorrect and hide Kurt under his bed or quasi-ironically in his closet if his parents walk in on them.  
  
"You know," his dad says, as they start looking through different jeans. Blaine puts one back in the pile because he remembers Kurt saying something unflattering about the label one time, and it can't hurt to try to stay on Kurt's good side, fashion-wise. "I seem to remember that the oldest Evans boy was part of a glee club, too. One of the detectives mentioned that it was how you two knew each other. Were you in the club at McKinley?"  
  
"No," Blaine says, recoiling at the idea of being thrown into the middle of the semi-incestuous insanity that is New Directions. "But Kurt was a part of it, and I hung out with him a lot, so I got to know most of them. I don't really sing."  
  
"Hmmm," his dad sounds like he's thinking about something else before he says, "So, you and this Kurt guy spent a lot of time with each other?"  
  
Blaine shifts uncomfortably.  
  
"I didn't have a lot of friends before," he says, because even though he's not thrilled to tell his parents about how lame he is, it's better than them getting too interested in Kurt at this point. "His dad had just had a heart attack and I guess he liked me alright because he started talking to me about it. It was nice to have someone around. I never joined their club but I liked them. It kept me away from T – from the house."  
  
His dad nods slowly. They're barely pretending to look at clothes now, but they're holding a stack each by this point and one of the braver store employees awkwardly approaches and asks if they need a fitting room as she desperately tries not to gawk at Blaine.  
  
Blaine's almost forgotten the entire conversation, but later on when they're getting back in to the car with all the things they bought, his dad says,  
  
"You should invite him over sometime."  
  
"Who?" Blaine asks.  
  
"Kurt," says his dad. "The boy you were friends with. Maybe even his whole family, if you want. The way I understood it is that they all liked you pretty well, and even wanted you to move in with them at one point. It's good that you had people trying to look out for you, and if you made some genuine friendships it doesn't seem right that you should have to throw them away because you've got your old life back."  
  
He's looking at Blaine earnestly now, and Blaine fully recognizes it's pathetic on his part, but his dad is staring at him so hard it makes him nervous. He feels like his dad is fishing for more about him and Kurt, like he's baiting a trap and waiting for Blaine to get caught. He forces down his jittery nerves and shoots his dad a tight smile instead.  
  
"Thanks," he says. "Maybe I'll do that sometime."  
  
He'll just make sure that he does it when neither parent is with him. They can't stick so close to him forever, after all.  
  
***  
  
The next day he goes down to the police station to answer some more questions. He's not looking forward to it much, but he's relieved when his mom tells him that Detective Warren got approval on her request to carry on with the investigation. There will be other cops there, but she'll be the one handling the questions. Then his mom mentions that Stevie and his family will be there as well, which is confusing to Blaine, because Lima has a police station of its own.  
  
"Stevie's been asking about you," his mother says, her eyes getting a little sad. "Mrs. Evans called us up and asked if it would be okay if they took him in so he could see you. They're going to be in the area anyhow and he's been having some pretty rough nights the past few days. He's been having a lot of nightmares and is pretty fixated on you. They were hoping seeing you might help."  
  
Blaine knows how Stevie feels. The first couple of times sleeping back at his house hadn't been a problem, he was so tired and so heavily medicated, but now that he's feeling better it's all different. His nightmares are worse than they'd ever been with Tom, more like full-fledged flashbacks than anything else, and then when he wakes up, sweating and shaking and crying, he feels sick, looking at the toys and memories of a little boy who might as well be dead. Nothing in the room has any meaning to him, and he knows that it should, that he should remember the things around him. But there's nothing comforting in the entire room, just broken fragments of a life that's gone forever. He's given up trying to go to sleep again after the dreams now, and just shuts his eyes to the dead memories around him as he listens to the cat clawing on the other side of the door.  
  
There are reporters waiting at the station when they get there, calling his name and shouting to try and get their attention. He hears Tom's name more than once, and even "sex" a few times. Blaine wants the ground to open up beneath him. Every single person yelling at him knows what he was doing when he was with Tom, and they all want him to talk about it so they can broadcast the details to every home in the country. If they found actual footage of what happened and played it on primetime, Blaine doubts he could be any more humiliated. His father looks at the reporters and sighs, glancing at Blaine.  
  
"Sorry," he says. "I knew there would be a few people here, but I wasn't expecting so many. We'd sent out a statement asking for privacy, but..."  
  
He trails off a little helplessly. Blaine feels guilty that things are so hard, but he doesn't know why. It's not like he asked to get kidnapped because he wanted the extra attention. Detective Warren must have been waiting for them inside the building, because suddenly Blaine can see her wading through the reporters as she makes her way to the car, an entourage of officers around her holding back the sea of microphones and cameras. He supposes he should be grateful, but holy shit, there are a lot of uniformed officers coming his direction. He just focuses his gaze on the ground and tries not to think about anything.  
  
Detective Warren looks at him oddly when he doesn't make any eye contact, but she doesn't dwell on it, instead leading the way into the building as quickly as possible. His mother keeps her arm across his shoulders the entire way, but his dad is held up by several of the reporters just by the doors. Blaine looks back, uncertain if they should wait for him.  
  
"Just keep going," his mother urges. "Your dad and I talked about it earlier and we decided if the reporters were getting invasive that we'd make a statement. We haven't released anything to the media at all yet, so we're hoping that will calm them down a little."  
  
Blaine looks at his father talking to the reporters.  
  
"'Make a statement'?" he repeats. "You were planning for this?"  
  
"We've had a lot of dealings with the media over the years," his mom says. "Nothing quite this big, but we've tried to keep your case as visible as possible, in case it helped someone recognize you. The problem is when you've been featured on so many programs and news segments, people start to think you owe them something. If we don't give them something now they'll only make it harder for you to settle back in. The last thing we want is them coming to our house with telescopic lenses."  
  
Blaine tenses as he tries not to panic over what she's saying, but fortunately he's distracted by Stevie shouting out his name and running over to him to wrap his arms around his waist in an enthusiastic hug. Again Blaine is shocked that Stevie is suddenly so willing to initiate contact, but as he hugs Stevie back he supposes that maybe little kids are better at forgetting bad things. He rethinks this as soon as he looks up to see Mr. and Mrs. Evans walking up to join them. They look even more exhausted than when Blaine saw them in the hospital. He listens for a moment to their conversation with his mother.  
  
"It's really too bad that you had to drive out all this way," his mother is saying to Mr. Evans. "I know how tired you must be, with Stevie having so much trouble at night and you trying to learn a new job."  
  
Blaine hadn't been aware the Mr. Evans had found work again, but he's glad to hear it. He knows that for now they're staying at the Fabray house, which is apparently very big and comfortable, but it must be kind of weird.  
  
"It would have had to happen sooner or later," Mr. Evans says. "We've been referred to a psychologist who specializes in helping children dealing with sexual trauma. She's based out of Westerville; we're on our way to Stevie's first appointment once we leave here."  
  
Blaine turns away from them in favour of crouching down to talk to Stevie. He'd rather ignore the inevitable moment when his mother asks for a name. She's taken to looking at him strangely, whenever she thinks something about him is a little off. Which is all the time, because apparently Blaine is as unstable as a homemade rocket launcher. He might as well spend the little time that he has talking to the one person who thinks he's completely normal.  
  
"All of Sam's friends keep coming to Quinn's house for really stupid reasons," Stevie says, in a tone that suggests he's tattling. To Blaine of all people. "They act like they go to her house all the time, but I can tell that they don't. They just want to look at me."  
  
"They were worried about you," Blaine says.  
  
"I don't even know them," Stevie says.  
  
"It's pretty annoying," Blaine admits, because he's had his fair share of neighbours and relatives stopping by unexpectedly, too. It's nice that his father's parents and the lady across the street who used to babysit him want to stop by and see him for themselves, but Blaine doesn't know them and he doesn't care if they need to see proof. He just wants to be left alone.  
  
"Kurt has come by three times," Stevie says, his voice accusing, and Blaine suddenly understands why Stevie is taking this up with him. "I've barely been back long enough for him to come over three times. He doesn't even care about me at all. He keeps asking about you."  
  
"That's not fair," Blaine says, hoping to god his mother isn't listening right now. "I bet he was really worried about you."  
  
Stevie shrugs, clearly unconvinced.  
  
"He was worried about me, but the person he wants to talk to is you. You should call him so he leaves me alone."  
  
Someone behind him clears their throat. Blaine whips around, or at least he  _tries_  to whip around before almost falling over. Between the cast and the sore ribs, he's not too good at sudden movement. Fortunately, the person who is currently helping him right himself, and who made the noise in the first place, is only Detective Warren.  
  
"Sorry," she says. "I just wanted to tell you that we've set up a room for you to talk in. It's a conference room, so nothing like the bare light bulb and folding chairs you see in the movies. I thought you might like to talk in there, so we can get away from all the commotion."  
  
Blaine glances out the door again. His father is just walking in, but the camera crews are still there, taking pictures through the glass.  
  
"A conference room would be good," he manages.   
  
***  
  
It's only a short visit in the end, as the Evanses have to meet their doctor later in the morning. The rest of the day is spent with Detective Warren as she interviews him about quite literally everything that's happened to him in the last nine years. At least, everything that he can remember. He'd been worried about how hard it would be to talk to her, but in the end he finds he's completely numb, just like he had been in the hospital, as he tells her what he remembers about living with Tom, like the first time they had sex, or how many times he remembers giving blowjobs to get out of trouble, or how Tom got him used to fooling around with him by refusing to feed him until he did as he was told. He's surprised he's not more upset by any of it, but the fact is it's more embarrassing than anything else. At least for him.  
  
Blaine hadn't wanted his parents in the room with him while he talked, and Detective Warren made it very clear that it was his decision if they stayed and listened or not, but the truth is that it wasn't really up to him at all. He could tell his mom and dad that he doesn't want them to be a part of this, that if they need to know what happened they can listen from another room or read a statement afterwards, but they  _look_  like they want to be in the room with him, hopeful and at the same time unwilling to say anything out loud, like they want it to be his choice, even though there's only one right choice to make.   
  
The thought of disappointing them is terrifying to him. He knows logically that they would never get rid of him at this point, not after they've done so much to get him back, but he's not used to people who are willing to accept him on his own terms. He needs to make them happy, even if that means letting them stay and hurting them more.  
  
And it does hurt them to listen, so much so that Blaine ends up having to pull his hand away from his mother's when he can't ignore how much she's shaking, and he has to pretend he doesn't hear his father leave more than once when he's telling Detective Warren what he remembers. He doesn't look at either one of them even once, and keeps his eyes fixed on Warren or his own hands as they tap out patterns and beats onto the table in front of him.  
  
The only time he makes them leave, quietly asking if they could leave him alone with the officers for a while as he stares hard at the table, is the only time the numbness goes away and he starts to feel icy fingers of panic crawling up inside of him. It's after the second officer who has been sitting in on the questioning with Warren asks why he never went to the police, when he must have had countless opportunities over the years.  
  
"Why did you send them away?" Detective Warren asks, glancing warily at the other officer, like she doesn't know if she wants an answer.  
  
"I'm not looking at them but I can tell what they're doing," he says. "It's pretty obvious how they're taking this. I don't want them next to me for this part."  
  
"Why didn't you go to the police, Blaine?" she asks, her voice getting a little harder, angry but not at him.  
  
"He didn't do it on purpose," Blaine says, absently wondering why he's defending Tom at all. "I mean, he knew what he was doing, but I don't think he had any sort of big plan to make me too scared to ask for help, I was just stupid. Sometimes kids are dumb. They think they know things but they don't."  
  
"What did he do?"  
  
"He didn't mean for it to get out of hand like it did," Blaine says, feeling his own control slip as he tries to keep the pleading note out of his voice. "We left right after it happened, and he always told me he never did it to scare me."  
  
Detective Warren tries to wait for him to get around to saying what he needs to say, but he can tell she wants to get up and shake it out of him a little, so he tries to make his thoughts come out in order.  
  
"Sometimes he had trouble making the rent."  
  
Blaine is the one shaking now as he finally stops talking. His vision is a little blurry and Detective Warren's mouth is a thin line of barely contained fury. He's never seen her this angry before, but the way she's looking at him he almost thinks it's his response more than the story that's getting to her.  
  
"Okay Blaine," she finally manages. "I think we need to take a break for a little while, and give you a chance to calm down, okay? Was that everything you needed to tell me right now?"  
  
He nods, as he rubs his good hand over his eyes. She pats him on the shoulder as she walks out of the room. A few moments later the door opens again and his parents are back. His mom doesn't ask any questions, she just gently reaches over and pulls his head onto her shoulder as she wraps her arms around him. He can feel his dad's hand carding through his hair, and if he cries a little before Detective Warren comes back and he starts talking again, no one makes a big deal about it.  
  
***  
  
Channel surfing has become Blaine's primary means of entertainment. He remembers when the problem with daytime television used to be that every show was boring and wishes he didn't have to learn the hard way why boring isn't always bad.  
  
"A touching reunion earlier this week between kidnapping victims Steven Evans and Blaine Anderson," Newscaster after newscaster drone on like having vague details about one night of his life makes them qualified experts on everything worth knowing about him as they flash the pictures of Stevie hugging him at the station, and animatedly talking to him as he crouches down and listens with a serious expression on his face.  
  
"You shouldn't have looked so adorable," his mother comments at one point, walking into the living room to see the picture as it flashes on the screen introducing the news on the hour for what has to be the fifth time that morning. "They're going to keep running those shots until Stevie graduates."  
  
"Maybe I should have slapped him instead," Blaine mutters and he'd feel guiltier about saying it but his mother is laughing so it can't be  _such_  a terrible thing to say out loud, although he's starting to understand where he gets his sense of humour now.   
  
He knows he should turn off the TV and talk to her, that she and his dad have taken time off from work to help him get used to the idea of being back here, but he doesn't know how to talk to them, and watching mindless television is easier than awkward silences or listening to them make plans for tutors to catch him up in school when they're not arguing about where he should be enrolled in the fall. They always make sure to ask him what he wants or thinks would be best, but Blaine's not used to having opinions that get listened to and is too nervous to say anything beyond, "Whatever you want," or "That sounds good," even though he thinks public school sounds terrible. Everywhere without Kurt sounds terrible, but he can't tell them that.  
  
He doesn't want Kurt to be a part of his life here, even though he knows it's stupid. But Kurt's not afraid to be himself. He's too proud and too stubborn to try and hide who he is, and Blaine doesn't know how his parents will respond to that. He's terrified of what will happen if he sees them looking at Kurt in disgust, or if they start to treat him differently after they see him with Kurt. He's scared that they'll be able to tell, so he just nods his head and says, "Maybe later", we they ask him about phoning the friend whose number he took with him from the hospital until they get distracted and forget. And he watches TV.  
  
 _"So what are you saying? You think this was part of a big plan? Like a conspiracy? 'A week with my son for a roof over our heads'?"  
  
"Don't put words in my mouth, _of course _it's nothing like that. I'm only saying that I think it's very suspicious that a family that_ claims _to be so full of love and respect for each other would be so quick to cash in on the horrific experience a little boy has gone through."  
  
"How are they cashing in on anything? The man lost his job, lost his house, and lost his son. When people found out about what he was going through of course they tried to help him! So he has a job now because of this. So what? So local companies have stepped up to help him get back their old house. So what? That's a sign of society's humanity, not one man's agenda to profit from a pedophile."  
  
"Fine, you think what you want to, that's your decision. Your version is much better than mine. For all our sakes, I hope you're right."_  
  
Blaine hits mute, but it doesn't make the women any less offensive or grating. He never knew there were so many round table discussion-based women's talk shows on TV. He never knew there was a maximum IQ limit for the job, either. He flops over on the couch and pushes his face into the soft end pillow. After a few minutes four tiny feet carefully make their way across his back. They make his sides hurt so he rolls over and tries to throw Mrs. Frisby off. His dad said the name was Cynthia's idea. Blaine asked if anyone bothered to remind Cynthia that Mrs. Frisby was a mouse and her namesake would eat her if they ever met in reality, but apparently his sister was adamant, no matter how twisted and ridiculous the implications, so Blaine tries not to let himself think about it too much. Mrs. Frisby seems fine with it, anyhow. She seems fine with anything so long as she is fed and has a warm place to sleep. Blaine's pretty sure that pathological need for warmth is why he can't get away from her, since some days his ribs hurt so much they feel like they're burning him from the inside. He finally manages to roll her off and turns the sound back on the TV. He channel surfs and tries to stay awake.  
  
 _"You can shout Stockholm Syndrome until your face turns blue. The fact remains that this guy – for whatever reason – didn't feel the need to go home once the entire nine years he was away. Not once. Maybe he liked it with his new dad – we all know the guy gave him whatever he wanted to convince him to stay there. Some people are just inherently selfish, and who knows? Maybe this guy just liked what was happening to him."  
  
"'This guy' was a child when he was taken. I don't think it's right to say – "  
  
"Yes! He _was _a child, but he's not now, so why was he still there? Why wouldn't he try to leave if he didn't like what was happening and all the attention he was receiving? People are selfish. It's just the way things are. There's no other way to describe a runaway teenager who made countless trips to his own hometown without saying boo to his heartsick parents, who have been waiting for years for the opportunity to get their son back home and know that he was alive and well. Let's face it, after nine years they probably would have been thankful to get him in a body bag – "_  
  
"Jesus, Blaine," his father's voice cuts through the television's noise and makes Blaine jump. "Why are you watching this crap?"  
  
Blaine sits up stiffly and rubs his eyes.  
  
"Sorry," he says, only sort of lying. "I think I was sleeping with my eyes open or something. I'm pretty sure I do that sometimes."  
  
He knows he does, both Kurt and Tom have told him, but he's not about to mention either name to his father. Luckily his dad just smiles as he turns off the TV.  
  
"I'm not surprised. You get that from my side of the family. It used to give your mother nightmares."  
  
"It's probably really creepy," Blaine agrees, hand going to his side involuntarily when the pain spikes as he straightens his spine. His dad looks at him worriedly.  
  
"It's probably not good for your side to fall asleep on the couch like that," he says, looking at his watch. "And it's getting late anyhow. Why don't you just head up to bed? You look exhausted."  
  
"Yeah, I don't think I've caught up yet," Blaine says. "Thanks. Goodnight."  
  
He almost says, "Goodnight, Dad" but changes his mind at the last second. Things are getting less awkward the longer he's back with them, but some things don't come so easily. Tom was so fixated on being called Dad, it seems wrong to call his real father that. Everything is twisted on its head now that he's home again. He's pretty certain most teenagers don't feel strange acknowledging that their parents are their parents, and they aren't scared of their bedrooms and even more scared to admit it, either.  
  
Blaine hates his bedroom. Everywhere he looks he sees ghosts. For now they don't seem connected to him – the memories all belong to someone else, but he knows that if he lets himself look through the closet or in the dresser, it will all start to come out. He'll start to find himself again and the idea is terrifying. Blaine knows who he is right now, even if that person is broken and dirty and useless. He never wants to meet the boy who used to be in his place, before everything went wrong and was destroyed, but at the same time he doesn't want his mom and dad to know that they won't be getting their old son back when they sort through his things, either. He's pretty sure he loves both of them, and he doesn't want to let them know they'll never find what they lost. So he pretends there's nothing wrong, and smiles at them and nods his head when his mother says they need to go through his room soon, or when his dad asks if he's sleeping alright when he walks into the kitchen each morning looking worse than he had the night before.  
  
In an attempt to keep up the act of complacency he gives Cynthia free range of his room, telling her to take whatever she wants. It makes sense, after all. Everything in there is geared to a kid her age, anyhow. Cynthia acts like she's been given the keys to an especially exciting city, maybe made of chocolate or filled only with toy stores where everything is free. Suddenly his lack of interest in parks is forgiven in exchange for the opportunity to go through his museum piece of a bedroom and take away all the toys she's always wanted to get her hands on. It's not an entirely foolproof plan. She only takes the toys out in fits and starts, and plenty of other things remain inside: trophies and pictures and schoolbooks. Then sometimes she still forgets that he's the same person as the great mythological brother "Blaine" and takes it upon herself to let him know about the little boy who went away in the enthralled voice of a kid who's grown up thinking of his life like something out of a fairy tale.  
  
"This was his favourite toy," she says once, holding up an admittedly cool-looking remote-controlled tarantula that he almost wants to take back because he's pretty certain it's still his favourite, although he doesn't remember it at all.  
  
"This was his favourite movie," she says another time, holding a battered copy of  _The Secret of Nimh_  and when Blaine looks at it, he suddenly realizes that he never remembers watching the movie or reading the book while he was with Tom, but he still instinctively knew where the cat got her name. The wave of realization makes him feel a little sick, and he leaves Cynthia to keep snooping on her own as he retreats back to the TV set.

***

He'd hoped clearing out all the old toys would make things easier, but Blaine still is getting his ass kicked by a child's bedroom. He's tried, but no matter what he does he can't sleep properly when he's in there. Before long a nightly pattern emerges. It starts as he lies there with his eyes screwed shut so he can't see the pictures on the walls, wondering how much longer he'll be able to pretend like sorting through all of it won't be a problem. He tries to envision himself starting, attempting to prove to himself that looking through a child's things is a stupid thing to get upset about and that it can't possibly be as pathetically terrifying as he's making it out to be. He never gets very far, and before long his brain becomes crowded with fractured images of his parents looking disappointed and upset, maybe because he doesn't remember something he should. No matter what they say, this is a test and it's one that he knows he can't possibly pass. He's going to let them down. Then the panic sets in, as his thoughts become cyclical, concluding in the same place they began:  _I can't do this._  Eventually he can't take it anymore and starts listening for his parents to go to bed and the house to quiet down. He sneaks downstairs and stretches out on the couch, never quite sleeping, listening for anyone getting up so he can sneak back into his room before he's noticed.   
  
It's awful and draining and Blaine's getting so sore he's starting to wonder if his ribs will ever get better, but at least he's getting more than an hour of sleep each night now. At least he doesn't feel like crying when he closes his eyes. Fortunately for him, his entire family seem to be late-risers, so he's always able to drag himself back to his room before the rest of the house stirs to life. The only one who knows his secret is the cat, who is more than happy to crawl onto Blaine's chest at night, purring loudly as she makes herself at home on her own personal heater, occasionally butting her head under Blaine's chin, dragging her odd, curly short fur across his skin.  
  
Blaine wouldn't say it's working  _well_ , but at least it's working for him, which is better than nothing. It might have kept working too, if his parents hadn't started to go back to work a couple weeks after he comes home. Part of Blaine is relieved when they tell him they're going back. It's not like they sit around catching up with each other when they stay at home. Blaine doesn't remember any of the people they could tell him about, and he's certainly not about to chat about what he's been doing in the last nine years. Even if his plan wasn't to try his damndest to forget all of it, some things are just naturally hard to talk to your parents about. Psychological torture, for instance, or your strengths and weaknesses in the area of sexual foreplay. Plus, now that they'll be leaving during the day, he might be able to finally have a chance to call Kurt. Cynthia has a babysitter she goes to while they're at work, so he wouldn't have to worry about her ratting him out if she hears him talking about anything particularly damning, not that he expects to be having phone sex with Kurt at this point or anything. It's just nice to know that he's safe. Even though he's nervous being alone in the house all day, he's looking forward to the change. Until his parents start getting up earlier, anyhow, before he has a chance to go back to his room.  
  
"Blaine?" His dad asks, clearly surprised. "What are you doing out here?"  
  
Blaine just looks at him a little helplessly, not exactly sure what he should be saying. His mother walks in behind his dad.  
  
"Are you having nightmares?" She asks. "That therapist I spoke with the other day mentioned that sometimes they can trigger sleepwalking."  
  
"I don't sleepwalk," Blaine grits out, just wanting to run the hell away from this conversation. "I'm not having nightmares."  
  
The last thing he wants is to end up being forced to talk to someone about how screwed up it is inside his head. Everyone knows enough about his personal life as it is.  
  
In the end he refuses to explain anything, just repeats, "I'm sorry" and "it's nothing" and "I'm fine" until he escapes to his room, where he sits with the door closed and his back against the wall, pretending he can't hear when they knock. That night he's determined to stay in his own bed. He lasts until 3 o'clock before he sneaks back to the couch, but he doesn't go to sleep, just sits there staring at the blank television until he hears an alarm go off upstairs signalling it's time to sneak back to his own room.  
  
He does the same thing for the next two nights, opting to fall asleep during the day with the TV on and all the doors locked. He's too tired to even think about calling Kurt. The next night it all goes to hell again though, and he falls asleep where he's sitting at some point just before it's starting to get light out, only to be woken by his father's hand on his shoulder. He doesn't even pretend like he's going to answer their questions this time, just shakes his head at them, apologizes and goes to his room.  
  
The third time it happens his mother follows him with a look of unflappable determination.  
  
"You need to talk to us, Blaine," she says, sounding firmer than he can ever remember hearing her. He feels his pulse speed up.  
  
"It's okay," he insists. "I'm not having nightmares, I promise."  
  
"Then why won't you stay the whole night in here?" she asks, standing in the doorway with her arms folded. "Stop shutting us out. Please. What's bothering you? Is it the room? Do you just not like your room?"  
  
"The room is fine," Blaine mutters, but his mother has latched onto the idea and is running with it.  
  
"It's too young, I know. I'm sorry about that Blaine. We wanted to wait until you felt a little better until we dealt with it, but if you really hate it we can start going through it right away. Tonight even, as soon as we get back from work. We can come up and – "  
  
" _No_ ," Blaine says firmly, and he can feel his eyes start to water. He hopes she won't notice but of course he's never going to be that lucky.  
  
"Why is this so upsetting to you, sweetie?" She asks, her voice soft and concerned. "I don't know how I'm supposed to be helping you."  
  
"I don't need any help," Blaine insists. "I don't need you to go through the room with me, I don't need you to worry when I don't sleep in the right room. Everything is fine. I'm fine."  
  
"No, you're not," she says. "You're not fine, Blaine, but that's okay. No one who's gone through what you've gone through could possibly be fine. But unless you talk to someone about what's going on in your head, it's just going to get worse. If you're not comfortable talking to me or Dad, that's okay, but you need to talk to someone. I can call Stevie's psychologist on break today and we can set up an appointment – "  
  
"Please don't do that," Blaine says, trying to sound calm and not convinced he succeeds. "I don't want to talk to anyone about this. I'll get over it on my own. I promise."  
  
She looks at him with an expression that clearly states she doesn't believe a word he's telling her, but finally concedes,  
  
"Fine. I'll hold off for today, but we  _will_  be talking about this when we get home. I know it's hard and scary trying to sort through everything you're sorting through, but we love you very much and we can't let this keep happening, Blaine. It's taking too much out of you."  
  
Blaine wants to tell her if she  _really_  cared about how he was feeling, she wouldn't make him talk about it, she'd just let him leave it all alone, but talking back to her feels uncomfortable and dangerous in a way he doesn't exactly understand. He honestly doesn't want to make things hard, but he can't agree to go along with her plans, either. So he sits alone in his room, on the ridiculously childish bed and tries to stave off his complete breakdown until everyone else has left the house. He looks wildly around the room without letting his eyes focus on anything for too long, afraid to really let anything register before he finally latches onto the fleeting thought,  _I should just do it before everyone comes back._  
  
It doesn't make sense, because his parents aren't punishing him for not going through the room or even sleeping on the couch. They're just scared for him and Blaine knows that, but he can't shake the idea that if he gets done before they come home, they'll see that he's coping fine without anyone else getting involved. He won't have to talk about his feelings, he won't have to let anyone know that he's never going to be anything like the perfect child they've built a shrine to in this house. Everyone will keep pretending things are the way they should be and no one will push to see the sick truth underneath. This is something he has to do for them. He has to make sure they don't regret finding him.  
  
Blaine is pretty sure he's left anything that even remotely resembles rational thought, but that doesn't stop him from taking a shuddering gasp of air and walking over to the desk in the corner, yanking open the bottom drawer and spilling the contents out onto the floor around him. He sinks down onto his knees and starts randomly picking things up and putting them into piles, not stopping to look at what he's holding. He keeps hoping that once he's started everything will come easier and he'll feel better, but everything he touches just makes the tension ratchet up higher. He gives up after not even five minutes, holding a piece of paper with a badly drawn family, holding little stick hands underneath a smiling sun. It looks like some old school assignment, and underneath the picture in shaky print are a few lines about family. Blaine hasn't read what they say, can't stop staring at the drawing, almost wanting to laugh at how cliché it is that  _this_  is the first thing he let himself look at.  _This is the reason they loved you: the poster boy for the perfect kid. This is what you have to teach yourself to be all over again. This is what you can never get back. This is why you're worthless._  
  
He doesn't register that he's crying like a girl in the middle of a bedroom littered with grade school art assignments until he feels the tears start dripping off his nose. He's pretty certain he's never felt more pathetic his entire life, but he's also sure the house could collapse on him and he wouldn't feel any worse. He doesn't know what he should do, there's nothing really wrong but it feels like everything's falling apart. He just wants someone he doesn't have to worry about making a mistake in front of, someone who already knows what normal is supposed to look like but still isn't freaked out by irrational panic. He's so tired of hiding who he is to keep the people he cares about. He wasn't supposed to have to do that anymore. He wants someone he can trust.  
  
He doesn't even register that he's gotten up to find the piece of paper until he's picked up the phone and dialling.  
  
"Hello?" Kurt's voice is a little uncertain, but he still picks up almost right away.  
  
"Kurt?" He says, and his own voice is scratchy and uneven. "I don't think I know how to do this. Please, just tell me how I'm supposed to do this."  
  
***  
  
It takes a while to explain what it is he's so upset about when Kurt asks, because Blaine doesn't exactly know the answer. In the end he supposes what it all comes down to is that he has no idea how to act like a rational human being when he's in this house. He feels like an alien with no concept of the native culture. He should feel guiltier for caving so easily when Kurt demands his address so he can come over, especially after Kurt reminds him that he'll be driving up from Lima because school is over for the year, but he doesn't. He just goes downstairs and sits by the front door for hours that go by disconcertingly fast, waiting for the doorbell to ring. When it finally does he's pulling the door open before Kurt even has a chance to lower his hand from the button.  
  
Kurt is staring at him a little like he's looking at a ghost, and Blaine supposes that he probably looks a lot worse than the last time Kurt saw him, even though the cast and a fairly intense meltdown are the only things still visibly wrong now, but Blaine's not in the mood to entertain Kurt's flair for the dramatic at the moment, not when he's got his own issues to wade through. He grabs Kurt's hand with his good one and pulls him inside, before the neighbours can get too curious.  
  
Kurt's arms are around him as soon as the door closes, and Blaine hugs him back just as tightly. It should hurt more than it does, but Blaine is pretty certain he's been on an adrenaline high ever since he woke up this morning, so the numbness isn't terribly surprising. They don't say anything for a long time, just stand there holding each other. It feels so right that Blaine can't stop himself from wishing he'd gotten to stay with him like he'd wanted in the first place, right after Anthony Rashad's party.  
  
"I missed you," Kurt finally says, making no move to pull away.  
  
"I missed you, too," Blaine says. "I'm sorry I didn't call right away. It's all so confusing here."  
  
"I imagine it would be," Kurt says, finally pulling away and looking beyond Blaine's shoulder with a confused look.  
  
"What?" Blaine asked.  
  
"I'm over-emotional," Kurt says, still staring. "I could have sworn I just saw a stuffed toy climbing up your stairs."  
  
He looks at Blaine and grins brightly. "It looks like you're not the only one losing his mind. That's good, we can be one of those couples who do everything together."  
  
"Shut up," Blaine says fondly, relieved at the way the world is slowly coming back into focus. "That was probably the cat. She's really weird-looking."  
  
"Ah," Kurt says, turning to look back at Blaine undeterred. "Well, maybe we can try for the matching his and his straightjackets next time then."  
  
His smile gets a little more serious and he brings a hand up to Blaine's face, stopping abruptly and letting it hover as he asks, "Can I?" Blaine nods, wondering why they both feel like they have to ask before they touch. Kurt starts carefully brushing his hair back from his face in a way that, from anyone else, could be called motherly.  
  
"What happens to the stuff in that room is nobody's business but yours," he says, quietly. "No one is going to judge you if you don't remember something or if you don't want to keep a grandmother's gift sweater that you probably hated when you were seven, too."  
  
"I'm going to hurt them," Blaine insists, and Kurt just nods.  
  
"Probably," he says. "But they'll hurt you, too. It's going to balance out."  
  
"I don't know who these people are," Blaine tries again. "I haven't even told them about us because I don't know what I'll do if they're not okay with it, and you're the only part of my old life that's worth talking about."  
  
"They're your parents," Kurt says. "And they love you. That's why it hurts. I'm guessing that if you severed a limb it would hurt a lot after they sewed it back on."  
  
"You were coming up with that analogy all the way over, weren't you?"  
  
"Only the first hour," Kurt says. "The rest of the time I was thinking about the best ways to get most of the crap out of your room before your parents come back."  
  
"Thank you so much," Blaine says, snuggling back into Kurt's arms again. Technically they haven't even had one date yet, and this level of neediness should be avoided at all costs, because even he knows this isn't a turn on, but he feels too good to care. "I don't know why this is such a problem for me."  
  
"The room's not really the problem, I don't think," Kurt says. "You're just focusing your energy on that because it's something you can fix."  
  
That sounds suspiciously self-help-y to Blaine and so does a lot of the other stuff Kurt's been saying, now that he thinks about it. He lets go a little incredulously.  
  
"Are you feeding me catchphrases and chapter headings from  _Borders_?" He demands.  
  
"What?" Kurt says, defensively. "They don't cover this sort of thing on Google books in accessible language, Blaine. Where else was I supposed to look?"  
  
"Why are you looking anywhere?" Blaine says, not sure if he's feeling mad, frustrated, or just confused.  
  
"Because I know how to deal with all of this stuff just about as well as you do," Kurt says, unapologetically. "And no offence Blaine, but you  _suck_  at this. Even Finn can clean his room without having to be prescribed anxiety medication."  
  
He takes Blaine's hand and looks at him expectantly.  
  
"Show me your room and tell me what your family is like," he says. "Then we can get rid of the old you."  
  
***  
  
Kurt is wonderfully methodical about sifting through Blaine's room.  
  
"I did this for my dad a few years after Mom died," he explains. "Her things were all still in his room and some days he'd look at them and have trouble even getting out of bed, but he couldn't let anything go. I didn't want to lose her things either, but I really wanted my dad back, so one day I sorted through their things and asked him about what made him happy and what made him sad. The happy stuff stayed where it was and the sad stuff went into boxes."  
  
"What happened to the boxes?" Blaine asks.  
  
"They're in the attic of our new house, next to the boxes with Carole's memories of  _her_  first husband. Sometimes Finn and I go through them, and sometimes Dad and Carole manage to pull them out and get rid of a couple things they can let go of, but for the most part they just stay hidden away. It makes everyone feel better knowing they're still around."  
  
Kurt sorts everything into piles and, unlike Blaine's, they have actual meaning and purpose.  
  
"Tell me what you remember," he commands, holding up an old Little League picture. Blaine shrugs.  
  
"I sort of remember playing a couple games. I don't remember being such a weird looking little kid, but apparently I was," he offers.  
  
Kurt looks at the picture.  
  
"Shut up, you were adorable," he says firmly, before setting the picture down and saying. "Anything you don't remember and don't care about, we can put here. Your parents can look at what there is and decide if they want to keep any of it after, but there's no reason to keep it in your room, right?"  
  
In the end they put everything into three separate piles. The first pile is the biggest, full of things that hold no meaning, where most of his school work and pictures end up. Then Kurt makes a pile for the things that make his skin crawl whether he remembers them or not, like old trophies and awards from clubs and teams he never remembers being a part of, and pictures of school friends he recognizes but can't name. Finally there's a much smaller pile for the things Blaine wants to keep, like a picture they find of him on his grandfather's knee, grinning hugely, and a disturbingly violent stick figure illustration he drew that is very likely a scene from  _Pulp Fiction_ , complete with accompanying teacher's note suggesting his parents meet with her to have a talk. His mother has added to the note in pencil "Found out today that Blaine has been sneaking downstairs after bedtime to watch late night TV after Dad falls asleep watching the Movie of the Week. The good news is he thinks 'little sucker' is a swear word, the bad news is his teacher thinks we're unfit parents."   
  
Kurt laughs until he has to wipe away the tears, and Blaine is amazed that this whole process seems so much easier with him here. He's starting to feel embarrassed that he was too scared to try on his own. It's not hard at all when Kurt makes everything so straightforward. At least, it's not hard at first, but the longer they go through drawers and look at pictures, the more hollow and empty Blaine starts to feel inside. He's missing so much. How is he ever going to become part of this family again when there's so little of them left in his memory?  
  
"I'm never going to get any of this back," he says after an hour, trying to keep his emotions in check and failing spectacularly when he throws a book across the room. It's way too advanced for a seven-year-old kid to be reading, but apparently his parents were those "read to your kids at night" kinds of parents, and there's a bookmark indicating that they made it about halfway through before he disappeared. Looking at it triggers distant memories of his father's voice droning on with him tucked into his side, feeling the vibrations of the words come up through his chest as his eyes droop shut. He leans against the bed and stares at the ceiling, an old glow-in-the-dark constellation looking down at him. Another memory he can't hold onto. The air next to him shifts as Kurt settles down beside him.  
  
"It's okay if you don't remember," he says, but Blaine shakes his head.  
  
"It's not that," he says. "I don't remember enough. It's like, I look at all of this and there are pieces that come through, but I need more. I remember but it doesn't help."  
  
"I know," Kurt says. "I feel that way about my mom. It's not fair that what I remember gets fuzzier when it's all that I have left."  
  
"Please don't talk about your dead mother right now," Blaine begs. "You make me feel like an asshole. I shouldn't be whining, it's not like I won't be seeing them in a few hours."  
  
"You're allowed to feel the way you feel, Blaine," Kurt says insistently. "We both lost parents, just in different ways. It's allowed to hurt. When Carole came into the picture it was like losing Mom all over again, because she made me realize how much I'd forgotten what having a mother was like. It felt like I'd betrayed her by forgetting, but I hadn't. Bad things happen, and while you find ways to work through it, sometimes you lose stuff. It's sad but you don't have to feel guilty about it."  
  
Blaine doesn't say anything to that, so Kurt asks,  
  
"Do you need a break?"  
  
"Yes please," Blaine says.  
  
"What do you want to do?" Kurt asks. "Should we grab some lunch or something?"  
  
"Would making out be inappropriate right now?" Blaine asks. "Because I know we haven't actually gone on a date yet, and I don't want to come across as easy, but so far my day has really sucked and that might go a long way towards turning it around."  
  
"Seriously?" Kurt says. "You didn't even hesitate. Is this what you think about in your spare time?"  
  
"There's not a lot to do here," Blaine says. "What else am I supposed to do? Unless you'd  _prefer_  that my entire life just becomes one non-stop pity party."  
  
Kurt snorts a little derisively, but still grabs at the front of Blaine's shirt and pulls him closer before moving their mouths together, so he's obviously not adverse to the idea. It still feels as stupid wonderful as it did almost two months ago when they kissed on the Hummel porch, even though Blaine's life has changed so much since then he doesn't even feel like the same person anymore. He leans in, moving further and further into Kurt's space until his sides start catching and his breath comes up short. Kurt's hands are gently pushing back almost at once, as he mutters into Blaine's mouth. "Steady there, tiger. If you want to come out to your parents at your own pace, a call from the hospital telling them you managed to break a rib kissing a devastatingly charming and attractive guy isn't the way to do it."  
  
Blaine laughs.  
  
"'Tiger'?" he says. "Really? My grandmother used to call me that, Kurt. It's not exactly a turn on."  
  
Kurt pulls back to grin at him.  
  
"That's new," he says excitedly. "Maybe my mouth has restorative powers for the memory, like those pills they sell in the herbal remedy aisle at the store. Should I be charging for this?"  
  
"I don't care how much money you spend on your clothes," Blaine says. "Or that you like to pretend you don't play Finn's video games. You're a bigger dork than I am."  
  
When they finally get back to sorting, Blaine sees Kurt picking up the book and moving it to the Bad Memories pile.  
  
"Wait," he says, a little impulsively.  
  
Kurt looks at him expectantly.  
  
"Let's keep it in the room for now," he says, thinking about his father's voice vibrating out from deep inside his chest, and how safe the memory feels. He wants more of it, but he figures maybe there are times when you hold onto the little piece that you have, even if it stings.  
  
***  
  
They work steadily for hours, until Blaine feels raw, like all his nerve endings are on fire. It feels like he's stopping to break down more often than they're actually making any decisions, but Kurt isn't complaining. He just sets down whatever is in his hands at any given moment and grabs Blaine into another hug as he lets him try to make sense of the emotions bubbling up inside of him. Blaine's so tired, he just wants this to be over. He doesn't even hear the side door open and close when everyone gets home, although he does register Kurt tensing a little from where he's sitting on the bed with his arms around Blaine as Blaine sits there leaning his head into Kurt's chest.  
  
He pulls away when the door to his room flies open and Cynthia is there, staring at them in open curiosity before running back downstairs shouting,   
  
"Dad! Mom! There's a strange boy in Blaine's room and they've made a really big mess!"  
  
Kurt raises an eyebrow as she continues.  
  
"Nothing's where it belongs and you told me no friends over without your permission. Are they gonna get in trouble? Can I watch?"  
  
"Wow," Kurt whispers. "She's a charmer, isn't she?"  
  
"You should see her after she's snuck into the powdered sugar," Blaine says, absently putting a hand to his eyes and wishing he didn't look as obviously upset as he's certain he does. His dad pokes his head around the door a moment later, his mother not far behind.  
  
"Sorry," Blaine mumbles, not really looking at them directly. "This is Kurt. He came over to help me sort through some of this. You told me to have him over, I didn't know you meant while you were here."  
  
"No, that's fine," his dad says, looking around as he takes in the chaos of the room. "Cynthia is still learning that the house rules are different when you're six than they are when you're sixteen. Your mom and I were planning on helping you do this tonight, but it looks like you beat us to it. Do you need any more help?"  
  
"I think we're almost finished, Mr. Anderson," Kurt says, and Blaine notices that his father starts a little when he hears the high voice but beyond that doesn't react any differently. "Are there any boxes we can use to put these away?"  
  
"Are you getting rid of everything?" His mother asks. She sounds a little anxious, and Blaine can see her looking at what each pile contains as she tries not to show her panic.  
  
"Oh no," Kurt says, calmly, like he's used to manipulating adults to get what he wants and considering that he now has a new family, he probably is, so Blaine lets him take control happily. It's nice to let someone else handle his parents for a change. "Once we get the boxes out we can show you what we've been doing. We didn't think it would be fair to get rid of anything until you've looked at it, but most of what we're taking out could easily go into storage."  
  
"Most?" His dad asks.  
  
Blaine points to the lamp in the corner with the shade that is covered with footballs, soccer balls, and baseballs.  
  
"You can save it if you have to, but why would you want to?" he asks.  
  
His mother smiles at him.  
  
"I tried telling you that you'd regret getting it when we bought it," she says. "But you were adamant."  
  
She's come home with several catalogues for him to look at so they can replace the furniture as well. Kurt ends up staying for supper and offering very vocal advise on what his new bureau should look like. His parents seem to like him just fine, which is a relief to Blaine, even if they don't technically know that they're meeting his boyfriend. He'd feel bad about keeping it from them but he figures that before he tells his family anything it's only fair to let Kurt know about his new title and there's no way Blaine's going to admit that until they've spent more time fooling around. He has his pride, after all.  
  
With Kurt there the conversation comes easier and feels less awkward. It's like there's a safety net under him and Blaine doesn't have to worry about losing all the progress he's made if he says the wrong thing. It's late when Kurt finally leaves and even though he promises to call and stop by the next time he gets a day off from his dad's shop, Blaine wishes he didn't have to go. Without Kurt there to act as go-between Blaine is back to being the emotional fuck-up who can't function on a day-to-day basis and acts like a stranger in his own house. Everyone told him this part would suck, but they all keep promising it will get better, even Kurt. Blaine wants to believe them, but he can't shake the feeling that trying so hard to make this work will turn out to be pointless in the long run, because maybe it really  _will_  hurt less the longer they work at it, but is it going to be worth it if he's still missing a family at the end?


	2. Part 2

**Some Day**  
  
 _Kurt tells him that his biggest failing is his complete and total inability to pay attention to the world around him.  
  
"When I need to know what to get for the friend we haven't spoken to in six years for a birthday present, I can ask you and you'll come up with something that ends up in happy crying every single time," he says. "But I ask you why the SWAT team evacuated half your building yesterday and you just thought everyone took an early lunch."  
  
In Blaine's defence, that only happened one time, and he'd had his headphones on so he wouldn't be distracted from writing a very important fundraiser speech at the time. Still, Kurt has a point, and Blaine is never more aware of that fact than he is when he realizes they've decided it's time to start a family. It's not a decision they reach lightly, but still, it would be a lie to say that Blaine was aware of exactly how far along they were in the entire decision making process.  
  
Blaine finally catches up to everyone else one evening not long after Kurt starts rehearsals for his first significant original role Off-Broadway. Everything is still early stages, but there's already talk of it going all the way to Broadway, something Kurt refuses to acknowledge out loud, which means that there's a good chance the rumours have some weight to them. Blaine is very happy for him, but he's also going a little crazy being around him, because Kurt is nervous. Very, very nervous and nervousness in Kurt always leads to something Blaine likes to call "Stress Singing," which is nowhere near as much fun as it sounds. It involves copious amounts of angry, frustrated bursts of Barbra Streisand medleys or random musical numbers whenever he forgets a line, or can't hit a note in just the right way, or when he gets a note to change something about his performance. At first it's always funny, but after a while it devolves into a frustrating and pathetic display that Blaine would sell a kidney to put an end to.  
  
This is where they currently are in the stress cycle when Kurt comes storming into the kitchen where Blaine has been making a grocery list. Appropriately and terrifyingly enough, he's singing that weird song from _The Mikado _about the people on the executioner's list, and he's put enough thought into it to come up with his own lyrics. He looks like he's finding it just a little bit too cathartic to be normal.  
  
"When we make babies, we're using my gene pool," Blaine tells Kurt, bluntly. "This bursting into song nonsense is alright when you're an artistic soul or whatever, but if we have a son who dreams of accountancy, he'll be _screwed _."  
  
Ordinarily Kurt would laugh or throw an avocado at Blaine's head in retaliation or something, but now he just stops in his tracks and looks at Blaine in disappointment.  
  
"We're not adopting?"  
  
It's Blaine's turn to stop in _his _tracks.  
  
"What?" he says. Kurt shrugs.  
  
"You care so much about adoption, I thought it's what we're doing."  
  
"Oh. Well, I never wanted you to feel like you _had _to," Blaine says. "You've never brought it up so I thought we'd wait for a while anyhow. It has to be something both of us are ready for, you know? You can't bring a kid into a family if you're only half ready."  
  
He doesn't specifically say, "You can't bring an older, traumatized kid into a family if you're only half ready" but he's hoping Kurt will pick up on that part by himself, because Blaine doesn't know if he can handle the idea of adopting a brand new baby with no problems when there are so many children out there who need good homes because someone else screwed them up. He knows people think it's weird that all the fundraising and public speaking that he does focuses just as much on raising awareness about adoption issues as it focuses on child abduction, but he can't help it.   
  
He's the first one to agree to talk about programs that work at finding ways to let kids in trouble know how to find help, or to petition for more effective monitoring of criminals by creating sophisticated sex offender registries that don't classify people who urinate in alleyways as synonymous with people who rape five-year-olds, but when it comes right down to it, he's never forgotten how he felt when he thought no one wanted him. He remembers waking up some mornings and feeling completely empty inside, not because of what Tom was doing to him sexually, but because he knew he wasn't good enough for anything else. He knows what it's like to let yourself be trapped in a place because you think you'll never find anything better, so long-term foster care and adoption programs are kind of a really big deal for him.   
  
He's been working as a spokesman for both adoption awareness foundations and children's rights organizations for almost three years now and he's met enough kids to know that if he and Kurt adopt, they'll never get a baby. He's never mentioned this to Kurt, though, whose life is always so impossibly chaotic that any sort of serious planning about kids seems stupid, but it hasn't stopped him from thinking about it on his own. A lot. He has no idea why he thought Kurt wouldn't be doing the same thing.  
  
"Why would you think I don't want to adopt?" Kurt asks, so incredulously it makes Blaine uneasy. That tone only ever comes out when he's missed something he's going to get in trouble about missing.  
  
"You never said anything," he says, quieter than usual, like making Kurt strain to hear will magically make him less frustrated.  
  
"I ask for recommended reading from your job all the time!" Kurt says. "Blaine, _why _would I be asking you to bring me books about the logistics of adopting troubled pre-adolescents if I wasn't fully expecting to do that very thing once we've finally made the space in our lives to do it?"  
  
"I thought you were being supportive?" Blaine tries.  
  
This _does _earn him an avocado to the head, which he catches and begins to peel almost on autopilot, so he can make apology guacamole and pita chips. Kurt will have to make the chips, as usual, because Blaine always gets distracted and burns them, but hopefully it's the thought that counts.  
  
"When will we have space?" Blaine asks a little later when they're sitting down at the table.  
  
"Two years," Kurt says almost at once.  
  
Blaine raises his eyebrows but Kurt only shrugs.  
  
"All that paperwork takes years to finalize, and they make you go to classes and get background checks and meet people who get to decide if you can take it..."  
  
He trails off when he realizes Blaine is staring at him.  
  
"What?"  
  
"When were you planning to let _me _in on this?" he asks.  
  
Kurt snorts and grabs the chips and guacamole, walking away without saying a word. Blaine calls his mother.  
  
"I don't know why I'm in trouble," he says as soon as she picks up. He doesn't bother to say hello. They're all used to these kinds of conversations. Even Finn has gotten used to them, because even Finn is better at noticing things than he is, and Finn lacks so much self-awareness Blaine has actually seen him go an entire day wearing two left shoes without realizing it. Whatever is going on now, Mom is bound to know more about it than he does.  
  
"Oh honey, really?" She says once he's finished. She sounds sad, like she sounds when she tells him about their newest pet - a dog who is so stupid they've had to put padding against the one wall in the house that he can never seem to remember exists. "You two talk about family all the time."  
  
"When?" Blaine demands.  
  
"What do you think is happening when the two of you sit down and talk about the best schools to send your kids to, or when you come up with house rules and curfews? You've even asked us how we'd feel if you tried to get them to call us_Lola _and_ Lolo _. And asked us to be emergency contacts."  
  
"But those weren't real plans," Blaine protests. "I mean, yeah we've made some practical decisions for when we're both ready, but it was all conjecture. Castles in air or whatever."  
  
"Oh my God, Blaine," Cynthia cuts in and Blaine wonders how long she's been listening. "Castles in air are, 'What colour will the bedroom be?' or, 'Wouldn't it be cool if we raised a future president?' They are _not _'Let's get some good therapist referrals from my co-workers, just in case.'"  
  
Blaine can't deny that she has a point, he'd just never thought about it the right way before. He dutifully lets himself get berated a while longer before he says goodbye and finds Kurt, who is back to running lines in the bedroom.  
  
"What did they say?" He asks, because he's used to how these failures of communication work themselves out after all the practise they've gotten.  
  
"That I'm a dumbass, basically," Blaine says as he sits next to Kurt on the bed and leans his forehead on Kurt's back. "Has it ever occurred to you that I might be too emotionally stunted to raise a hurt kid?"  
  
He can feel Kurt's shoulders move a little as he laughs.  
  
"You're not as bad when you're in the thick of it. You've always been better than me at extended crisis, and we'll have plenty of that, so how about you help me with the bad times and I help you with the good times? That's teamwork, right?"  
  
"I can't believe I didn't sort this out," Blaine says. "I've been trying to figure out how to talk to you about it for real, but subtly. So you wouldn't feel forced into anything."  
  
"I wish I could say I was more surprised," Kurt says, and Blaine can tell when he's being laughed at. He decides he doesn't mind at all when Kurt adds, "I've been thinking we should ask one of your co-workers for the names of some good classes that help you prepare to adopt. I've been thinking about references, too."  
  
"Can you take a break?" Blaine asks suddenly, lifting his head and looking over Kurt's shoulder at the marked up script.  
  
"Probably," Kurt says. "Why?"  
  
"I don't think being gay is a good enough reason to throw away a perfectly good tradition," Blaine says, snatching Kurt's script and tossing it onto the night table.  
  
"What do you mean?" Kurt asks, before Blaine starts grabbing at the bottom of his shirt, trying to get it untucked and off as quickly as possible without getting crucified for popping a button.  
  
"Sex, Kurt," he says impatiently. "You're doing that thing where you make me want to do dirty, nasty things to you, and families just aren't as good unless they start out with two people fucking."  
  
Kurt starts to make a sarcastic comment about the death of romance but for once he's the one who gets distracted before he has a chance to finish._  
  
  
***  
  
  
 **For Now**  
  
  
With the exception of the day his cast finally comes off, Kurt is the best thing about an remarkably bad summer. It doesn't seem right that Blaine's first summer back with his family should be so terrible, but it really is. Each new day comes with a sense of trepidation, because Blaine never knows when he's going to find out some new piece of information that sends him into yet another tailspin. Like the day he finds out Tom is pleading guilty to kidnapping and statutory rape but not guilty to just about everything else, which means Blaine will probably have to get on a witness stand and tell a room full of people about every little thing Tom did to him. He wants to crawl into a hole somewhere and never come back out again, but his parents are seething.  
  
"That sick bastard is just saying it because he thinks he can get away with telling people it was consensual," his dad says to him one day. "He's trying to make you into a liar, like he really thinks the world doesn't see right through him."  
  
"I think a lot of people believe him," Blaine says, shrugging when his dad looks at him incredulously.  
  
"Blaine there's no way you wanted any of that," his dad says in a voice that makes it clear it's not open for discussion.   
  
Blaine thinks about all the times where he was the one who made the first move during the last year and says nothing. He may not have wanted it when he was little, but he sure didn't fight very hard when he got older. He knows it won't make him look good to anyone when they really think about it, least of all his father, but he ignores the unpleasant feeling in his stomach and tries not to think about it as he goes back to texting Kurt on his new cell phone. His mom finally went out and picked one up for him after telling him she was getting sick and tired of him acting like he was doing something wrong when they caught him using the landline.   
  
"If it will make you feel better having your own phone, that's what we'll do," she said. "We'll get you a plan so you can talk to your friends as long as you want without it costing any extra. You're allowed to have a life now that you're back home, Blaine. We  _want_  you to talk to your friends and to spend time with the people you care about. This is what we've wanted ever since you were taken away."   
  
The phone isn't as good as his old one, but it's so much better than nothing, and the plan is the same, so he doesn't have to worry about running up any bills because he's texting Kurt more than he's talking to his family. Which he is. Because texting with Kurt is also better than talking with his father.  
  
Blaine doesn't know how to deal with his dad. He loves him and he loves that he's so different from Tom, but his dad is so serious compared to his mother it throws Blaine off-kilter when they talk. He can't get a good read on him and it scares Blaine a little. His dad is also very intense and even though he's never gotten mad at Blaine, there are some days when Blaine can literally hear him shouting from every room in the house. It doesn't happen a lot but whenever it does it's always about Blaine, and something else that's happened with Tom. When Tom's bail is set at a ludicrously high amount and Blaine is back to sleeping on the couch again because he can't stop worrying about what will happen if Tom somehow finds a way to post it, his father rants about the inadequacies of the American Justice System until Cynthia starts crying. He yells when Detective Warren tells him Tom says the sex didn't start until last year, and when he finds out that Tom is telling everyone the reason he decided to take Blaine from his dad in the first place was he saw him hurting Blaine that day in the mall.   
  
That Tom might be able to post bail is terrifying for Blaine, but in the end it's just fear that he's feeling, and Blaine is used to fear. But the stuff Tom is saying about his dad makes him feel sick. His dad doesn't deserve to be dragged into the middle of this  _thing_  between the two of them. Tom is angry at Blaine for leaving and he's taking it out on the people Blaine cares about by making up terrible lies in the hopes that someone will listen, but Blaine's certain his father would never hit him and doesn't want anyone to even entertain the possibility. Even when he sees him angry, his dad never even makes so much as a single violent gesture to anyone or anything. Blaine's been around violence for most of his life, and he knows what a person looks like when they're out of control. His dad is not that person. Not that it stops Blaine from flinching whenever his dad is on a tear and starts to edge into Blaine's personal space. He tries hard not to, especially when he sees how devastated his father looks the first time he catches on to what's happening, but knowing someone won't hurt you and feeling it are two different things, and Blaine's just not there yet. Tom had gotten so bad in the last few years he can't help it and no matter what his dad thinks about it, it has nothing to do with him at all. Blaine flinches around everyone.  
  
He's even caught himself flinching at Mr. Hummel's garage, one time when he was there with Kurt, right after a mechanic broke a part he'd been trying to install into a customer's car. The difference between Mr. Hummel and Blaine's father is that when Mr. Hummel glanced over and saw Blaine frozen in his tracks, he'd only calmly shouted at his employee to take his break and come back when he was ready to behave like an adult. Blaine's dad hadn't been able to look him in the eye for a week, until his mother had given up and grimly marched the entire family into therapy. She signed Blaine up for one-on-one sessions too, even though he keeps telling her he doesn't need them and she's wasting her money. Blaine  _hates_  going to see a psychologist. It feels like everything he says is being scrutinized and used against him and no one ever tells him why. He never knows if he's saying the right thing and even though he knows they always say everything is confidential, he feels like if he starts to admit things, somehow his parents will find out about it. In the end he never even tries to talk to her about what he's feeling, just sits there and politely answers the superficial questions while pointedly ignoring the important ones. And if he can't talk to the professionals, he certainly can't talk to his father, either.  
  
Blaine thinks his dad  _wants_  to talk to him, but he always feels pushed to talk about things he doesn't want to talk about. He can tell his father desperately wants conclusive proof about Blaine's sexual orientation, like he's always two minutes away from flat-out asking if Blaine is gay or not. He's forever making comments about girls while he tries unsuccessfully to look disinterested in the response, like it wouldn't be a big deal if Blaine wasn't interested, but whenever anyone so much as hints that Blaine might not be 100% straight, he bristles. Blaine's palms sweat a lot when he talks to his father.  
  
He's okay with the hugs and the encouraging, manly, "my boy's a man now" claps on the shoulder, in fact he kind of likes them. His dad is always a little too awkward about it, like he's not used to demonstrative affection but isn't about to waste the opportunities now that he finally has them again, but Blaine still wishes he'd do it more often. He tries his hardest not to let himself analyze how he feels because it's so weird, but it's nice to be able to have that decidedly masculine contact without having to worry about it escalating into something else. But  _talking_  to his dad, who watches Blaine with a sombre expression as he worriedly tries to find the smallest hint of something wrong, leaves Blaine's nerves frayed around the edges, because he knows that if his dad ever sees anything "wrong," whatever it is, it will automatically turn into a Big Problem. And knowing Blaine's luck, the problem his dad finds is likely going to have something to do with how he's completely indifferent about girls.  
  
"He doesn't have any problems with  _me_ ," Kurt offers one day when Blaine is over and they're sitting together on Kurt's bed looking at something stupid on Facebook. "And I'm so gay I practically have my own private Lady Gaga following me around, catering to my needs like my own little helper monkey."  
  
The conversation inevitably gets derailed for a while as they try to work out the logistics of owning a "Gaga monkey," but eventually they make their way back to the depressing topic at hand.  
  
"A lot of people are okay with queer until it's their own kid who comes out of the closet."  
  
Kurt doesn't have anything encouraging to say about that because they both know it's true, and like it or not, Blaine's dad seems more and more likely to be one of those people, especially after what happens the first time he's taken to meet his grandmother.  
  
"You have to meet her again. It's not right that you haven't seen Lola yet," his mother tells him. "Even if you have spoken with her."  
  
They'd been holding off on house calls until Blaine started to settle into his own home a little better, but now that his cast is off and his ribs are almost completely normal again, the grace period is officially over. Blaine decides that's alright because all in all, it's not a terrible thing to be stuck going to see his only surviving grandparent anyhow. Besides, he thinks there's a good chance he likes Lola Grace. She's been slowly recovering from a broken leg ever since Blaine first came back and as a result still isn't fit for travel outside of her senior's residence, but Blaine's already had several awkward phone conversations with her, the worst being the one where he accidentally let it slip that he thought her first name was actually "Lola."  
  
"It's not my  _name_ , it's who I  _am_ ," she scolds. "You need to take a better interest in your family, Blaine. You've forgotten too much. You need to improve your attitude."  
  
Blaine agrees with her until she stops giving him a hard time because she's old, harmless, and just a little bit beyond connecting her thought processes to what's happening in the world around her. She's feisty and proud of her heritage and obviously wants her descendents to feel the same way. It's important enough to her that no matter how many times Blaine's parents step in to gently remind her that Blaine hasn't so much forgotten about being part Filipino as he's been severely encouraged not to think about it, she can never quite hold on to that piece of information when she starts to talk about how bad he's been for forgetting all the Tagalog she's taught him over the years.  
  
Still, Blaine is actually looking forward to seeing her, at least somewhat. She's so blunt it makes his skin crawl, but she always laughs when she talks to him and even though he can't remember her specifically, her accent makes him feel like he's stepped into a time machine. When he talks to her, it's like he's suddenly seeing the world from the perspective of someone still too small to see on top of the kitchen counter and whose ignorance has tricked him into believing that the world is a wonderful place. It makes the painful frankness almost worth it.  
  
Or so he thinks before he actually  _does_  go meet her in person. Which is when he experiences what it's like talking to her while his parents are in the room with him and can actually hear what she's saying instead of just listening to his side of the conversation and making guesses. One minute he's sitting next to her, getting another lecture on how poor his language skills have become while his parents try not to let their boredom show (Cynthia has long since abandoned them to go play with the little girl visiting her grandfather down the hall), and the next minute she's putting a wrinkled hand on Blaine's knee as she sympathetically says,  
  
"I watch on the news about you, you know."  
  
She clucks a little and shakes her head. He can see his parents start to tense up, like they're waiting to run in and do damage control.  
  
"The things they say about you!" She shakes her head in disapproval. "One said you were there because you liked men! You know. Because you're a gay? What a disgusting thing to say."  
  
Blaine just stares at her with his mouth hanging open until his Dad starts into action.  
  
" _Grace_ ," he says, skipping right past the Lola. "You  _cannot_  say things like that. That is  _completely_  inappropriate and uncalled for."  
  
His grandmother doesn't even flinch.  
  
"I know," she says, patting Blaine's knee again. "But there's no point shouting about it, Jason. Besides, there's nothing to worry about now. I took care of the awful man myself. I wrote a letter and told him it was none of his business. Blaine is allowed to like other young men without bringing that  _gago_  into it."  
  
She smiles at Blaine, who doesn't smile back, instead opting to continue staring blankly at the wall.  
  
"Gay boys aren't all bad. I'm sure you're fine."  
  
"Grace," his dad says again, and he sounds livid. Blaine's never seen him this upset before, but then no one's called him out on being gay with his dad in the room before, either. "This is not appropriate."  
  
His  _lola_  turns hard eyes onto his father and points an accusing finger at him.  
  
"You need to clean up your act," she lectures. "The world is passing you by, Jason.  _I_  used to be like you, but do you know what  _I_  did? I bought cable. I subscribe to  _HBO_ , young man, and now I know how the world works."  
  
"I have to go check on Cynthia, excuse me," his mother semi-gasps out before getting up and leaving the room.   
  
Lola is all smiles again when she looks back at Blaine.  
  
"The girls on our floor like to get together every week and watch that show about the vampires. Crafting club has gotten very angry sometimes, now that Eric is half-gay and a lot of us want him to start seeing that black fellow with the nice eyes. If neither mind sleeping with other men, why should I? Anyhow, I think they would make a very attractive couple. Do  _you_  have a boyfriend, Blaine?"   
  
Blaine might have been mortified by the entire exchange, but when Kurt hears about it the next day he laughs until he's wheezing, air hissing in and out of his lungs like he's sprung a leak.  
  
"It wasn't that funny," Blaine says, not even bothering to hide his annoyance. "Do you know how uncomfortable it is to have to break a frail old lady's heart by refusing to admit that you like cock?"  
  
"Hey," Kurt says, calming down enough to nudge him in a gentle reprimand. "Stop trying to make who you are sound like something you need to keep hidden under a mattress. It's not dirty, it's just who you are. That's why your grandmother wanted to talk to you about it. She wants you to be happy, that's all."  
  
"That's sounds really nice, Kurt," Blaine says, unimpressed. "But she watches  _True Blood_. I think she's less concerned about the beauty of love than she is watching hot vampires sleep with each other."  
  
Kurt snickers again.  
  
"Do you think she writes  _Twilight_  slash, too?"  
  
"Hey!" Blaine says, snatching a pillow off the bed to throw in Kurt's face. "Don't talk about my grandmother like that. She's got taste, Kurt."  
  
"Well, she does seem to like you, so you may have a point," Kurt says, smiling as he reaches over to pull Blaine down onto the bed next to him. Blaine is more than happy to comply, and Kurt seems interested enough, so he goes to lie on top of him, deciding that now is as good a time as any to see how far Kurt is willing to take things, but Kurt squirms out from underneath him almost instantly to ask,  
  
"Would you have told her you're gay? If your dad wasn't in the room, I mean. Would you have told her?"  
  
"Probably not," Blaine says. "I mean, it's pretty obvious that she doesn't get how privacy works anymore, so there'd be nothing to stop her from talking to my parents about it. If I'd have known it would stay with her? Maybe. It would be nice to have someone who I know won't have a problem with it before I have to say anything."  
  
"It doesn't sound like your mom would mind," Kurt offers. "She thought the whole thing was pretty funny, too."  
  
Blaine shrugs and doesn't answer. He doesn't want to talk to one parent without talking to the other one, too. He doesn't think he can handle the idea of coming out more than once to these people. He doesn't have that much courage.  
  
"It felt wrong lying to her," he says. "She just wanted to know if I was happy. After I'd denied your existence loudly enough for it to register with her, she went straight to asking about girlfriends. She kept saying how I was just like everyone else my age and I needed to remember to act like it. If I'd told her about you at least I wouldn't have felt like I was letting her down."  
  
Kurt is looking at him strangely, sort of like Blaine's grown a new head, but for some reason Kurt is really happy about it.  
  
"What?" he asks.  
  
"Am I your boyfriend?" Kurt asks, and he sounds so hopeful it's the only thing that keeps Blaine from jumping off the bed and backing out of the room, apologizing for being a presumptuous asshole.  
  
"I'm sorry," he says. "Is that weird? That I think of you that way, I mean? I know we haven't done a lot with each other yet, and I kind of wanted to wait a little longer before I asked you about it, but don't worry if you don't want to say yes, or if you want to just keep doing what we've been doing or whatever, I'll do whatever you want."  
  
"Blaine, shut up," Kurt orders, a little harshly considering the expression on his face. "You're dangerously close to ruining another first for me. This is not something you apologize about, okay? This is something you ask me, and then I get choked up and maybe cry about it a very little bit, but you don't mention anything because you know I'd get embarrassed and it would spoil the moment, so you just wait, and then I say yes, and then this happens."  
  
Kurt pulls him into a kiss and Blaine is more than happy to reciprocate, but before they have a real chance to get started, Kurt stops and pushes him away, staring expectantly.  
  
"What's wrong?" Blaine asks, confused.  
  
"I'm waiting," Kurt says.  
  
"For what?" Blaine asks.  
  
" _Blaine_ ," Kurt says in genuine exasperation. "I'm not going to ask  _myself_  to be my boyfriend. I have standards."  
  
"Oh," Blaine says, sitting up a little. Sometimes Kurt gets really hung up on doing things properly. "Kurt, do you want to be my boyfriend?"  
  
He barely gets the words out before Kurt lets out what has to be the most adorable squeak of excited laughter Blaine has ever heard and then Kurt is surging up and wrapping him up in a hug, saying,  
  
"Yes! Okay! Boyfriends are good. I would like that. Yes, please! That was  _perfect_ , yes!"  
  
Blaine laughs a little too, kissing Kurt softly before he lets his head drop onto Kurt's chest. In a few minutes Burt will probably come knocking on the door telling them to "leave it open, you two. Seriously, how many more times do I need to tell you?" But Blaine doesn't care. Kurt's happiness is infectious and settles inside him like the memories of his life before Tom. For a minute he forgets who he is. Blaine wishes there was something he could do to show Kurt how much that minute means to him, but the peaceful feeling inside of him has an almost debilitating effect and he stays quiet, enjoying it while it lasts.  
  
***  
  
Blaine has spent so much time worrying about how he'll handle his senior year in a strange new school where he has no friends, and more to the point no Kurt, it's never occurred to him that he could be worrying about the wrong thing. Because finally one day his mom and dad tell him that all the public schools they've spoken to are telling them the same thing: he's missed too many days and his grades fell too far down in those last few months of his last semester to be able to graduate at the end of his next year. Not even summer school is presented as an option, because apparently he's missed too much time to be able to do that, too.  
  
"It wouldn't be fair to you anyhow, honey," his mother says, finally accepting the inevitable after her third meeting with a principal. "You'd be spending all your time trying to make up what you've missed and you were already struggling so much before, especially since your attendance will be affected again if you have to testify at Brenner's trial."  
  
"I don't know why I have to be punished because of this," Blaine says, angrily. "It's not my fault. It's not like I'm stupid or anything. I had other things to worry about."  
  
"That's putting it mildly," his dad says, squeezing Blaine's shoulder consolingly. "No one's trying to punish you, Blaine. We're trying to do what's best for you. The Westerville principal seemed really positive that you would do well this way."  
  
The Westerville principal is another problem Blaine finds himself facing over the summer. Not her specifically, but how much his parents seem to like her. Mrs. Kingston is positively effusive over Blaine when she meets him, talking excitedly about her plans to help integrate him into the school and make him feel welcomed.  
  
"We don't believe in special treatment here at Westerville high," she says firmly to his parents. "Blaine won't be singled out by any of our teachers because of what he's been through, I can promise you that. We make allowances for students who have been going through crises, of course, but we  _never_  pander to anyone. I can't get into specific examples for obvious reasons, but over the past several years we've had hosts of students faced with things like deaths of loved ones, sickness in the family, and personal illness and injury, all interfering with their learning. We have special remedial classes that we set up for those students during study periods, and they are all assigned buddies within each of their classes to help them stay on top of things. I fully understand that Blaine will be busy over the course of the next year with police business, court dates, and possibly even some therapy or doctor's visits that might require him to have lower attendance. We could easily find room for him in our remedial program under those circumstances."  
  
"She seems like she knows what she's talking about," his dad says afterwards, and Blaine can tell that both his parents have been completely charmed by her. He just looks out the car window and doesn't say anything. Personally, he can't shake the feeling that she just wants him to come to her school so she can brag about how well he's doing under her administration during teacher's conferences. Admittedly he's likely more than a little paranoid about these kinds of things, and his opinion is severely clouded by knowing that his parents aren't going to be sending him to Dalton, but he still thinks there's something about Mrs. Kingston that seems desperate. He is not looking forward to the fall.  
  
"You should just tell them," Wes says one day when he meets up with him and Kurt to go to a movie. When Blaine started spending time with Kurt again, he'd been expecting to spend time with the McKinley glee club again as well, and he has been, a little bit. But for some reason he never expected Kurt to still spend time with the Warblers, too. It's sort of ridiculous, since if anything it should work the other way around, since Kurt is still going to Dalton and hasn't gone to McKinley for half a year, but he's still surprised to be spending so much time with people like Wes and David. David doesn't even go to Dalton anymore, and is getting ready to head off to University in the fall, but he's still always hanging out with Kurt and Wes, and now by extension Blaine.  
  
It's not bad. Blaine likes both of them a lot. For as apoplectic as they can get about a cappella, they're surprisingly low-key and non-judgemental when it comes to Blaine's myriad issues, even when they don't always understand what the problem is. Like right now.  
  
"It's not that easy," Blaine says. "You heard my dad that day at the mall. Not sending me to Dalton was a really big deal. I don't want to get them upset."  
  
"I don't know why you think they'd be upset," Wes insists. "Dalton makes much more sense for you than public school at this point, and it's only fair that they know all the reasons why. You said that Westerville High wants you to repeat all your classes again from last year. My brother shattered his femur senior year when he got T-boned by a drunk driver, and Dalton bent over backwards to make sure he lost as little academic ground as possible at school. I bet if you came to Dalton, you'd only have to repeat the classes from the one semester instead of the entire grade. It's your best option."  
  
Blaine doesn't say anything, pretending he's thinking over what Wes is saying, but at least one person isn't buying it, he realizes when he glances over to see Kurt staring at him sadly. Blaine hadn't expected to be able to fool him anyhow. He's spent too many hours on his phone late at night, listening to Kurt's gentle voice patiently talk him out of panic attacks after he says or does the wrong thing, like accidentally referring to Tom as his dad, or the time he accidentally prompts Cynthia to throw a temper tantrum when he throws out a hideous craft she had made for their mother under the mistaken but justifiable belief it was garbage.  
  
His reactions are always so stupid, and he knows it's not normal by the way everyone around him responds to them, which is the most embarrassing thing about it. Blaine honestly doesn't know why he reacts as poorly as he does, but he seems to be forever making mistakes. It gets to the point where he can hardly sit still, he's so panicked over the thought that any moment he could do something wrong, until one day he decides he can't take the stress anymore. He asks Puck if he can get his hands on some pot one day when several members of New Directions are over at Kurt's house.   
  
"You're still into that stuff?" Puck asks, looking at Blaine in surprise.  
  
"Why wouldn't I be?" Blaine asks.  
  
Puck shrugs.  
  
"I don't know," he says. "I kind of thought you only did it because your life sucked so much."  
  
"It still kind of sucks now," Blaine says.  
  
"I don't know dude," Puck says, dubiously. "I mean, I  _do_  know a guy who does a pretty good job of staying under the radar, better than Mr. Ryerson anyway, but if I get caught with something like that even one more time and my probation officer finds out - "  
  
"Right," Blaine says, cutting him off. "No, it's okay. Forget I asked."  
  
But one of the things that makes Puck an awesome guy is that when you're his friend, he can make stuff happen for you no matter what, and is willing to do anything to help if you ask him. Even better, he never bothers to question the morality behind what his friends need, and so a few days later when his parents are out and Blaine's been saddled with babysitter duty, he's almost bowled over by a terrified Cynthia who comes charging into the living room to say,  
  
"I think there's a witch coming up to our front door!"  
  
She shrieks and dives for the stairs when the bell rings a second later and Blaine is still rolling his eyes when he opens the door to find Quinn Fabray standing there staring back at him, and suddenly Blaine understands why Kurt becomes sombre and despondent when she's come up in conversation lately. From the skank attire, to the smudged gothic Lolita prostitute makeup, straight to the hot pink hair that looks like it was hacked off with a table saw, it would be generous to say that Quinn has seen better days. She looks as lost as Blaine feels.  
  
"Puck texted me," she says shortly, pushing her way into the house without bothering to toss the lit cigarette dangling from her fingers. Blaine grabs it and throws it away for her before she can get too far inside, which garners no response. Instead she reaches into her oversized purse and roots around for a while before she pulls out a small baggie containing several joints.  
  
"You owe me," she says. "The new supplier for the McKinley crowd always tries to grab my ass so I'm charging you extra."  
  
"Not a problem," Blaine says, recovering slightly, but not quite enough to think better of it before he says. "You look like shit. What's wrong with you?"  
  
"Do I look like I want to talk about it?" Quinn snaps.  
  
"A little," Blaine admits, because in his defence she looks like she's going to start writing bad poetry about a wide assortment of stupid white girl problems any minute now: "I am a Fatty," "Dad Won't Buy me a New Car," "I am Tormented, Please Ask Me How," and so on. He quickly changes his mind the next second though as her eyes narrow and she says,  
  
"I'll talk to you about my makeover when you talk to me about how good it felt being kept as a high end sex toy until you lost all your baby fat, sound like a plan?"  
  
Blaine actually takes a physical step away from the words leaving her mouth, but she just collapses onto the sofa he's just vacated and looks at him expectantly.  
  
"Are you going to sit down or not?"  
  
"You're staying?" Blaine questions.  
  
"Better sitting here doing nothing than doing it back in Lima," she mutters. Blaine sits down cautiously and goes back to watching the Oprah Network, occasionally answering the odd text from Kurt, who is giving Blaine a running commentary on the outfits worn by of all his father's customers. Quinn never says a word and neither does he. She doesn't move until it's almost time for his parents to get home. Cynthia doesn't leave her room once and that alone is reason enough for Blaine to invite her to come back any time she likes.

***

He doesn't expect to see her ever again, except maybe if he has to have Puck set up another drug run for him, but three days later she's on his doorstep again, greasy and dishevelled as before, eyes suspiciously bright, cradling a couple glasses and a bottle what is probably very expensive wine. Cynthia is spending the day at someone's house, so they smoke a joint out on the back steps, neither one of them saying a word, but then when Quinn reaches into her bag to pull out a corkscrew she mumbles,  
  
"It feels like drowning."  
  
"Yeah," Blaine says. He doesn't know what she's talking about exactly, but he still knows what she means. He feels it, too.  
  
They drink in silence for a while and then when he's pouring them another glass she speaks up again.  
  
"I'm a mother."  
  
"I know," Blaine says. "Kurt told me once."  
  
"Some days it feels like there's nothing left," she says. "Like I made a mistake and I can never take it back. It's not fair. Puck picks up and he goes on living his life like nothing's any different. He gets a girlfriend, he sings and dances in that stupid club and he's happy. I've tried to be happy so many times, to find what he's found, but it never works. She's all I had that mattered and I let Shelby Corcoran take her away."  
  
Quinn might be dressing meaner, smoking pot, and stealing alcohol from her mother now, but she is still definitely the same prim and proper girl Blaine used to see smiling at him vaguely in the McKinley hallways. She gets drunk too fast to be used to it.   
  
"It's okay to miss her," Blaine offers, finally.   
  
"She's been gone a year," Quinn says, talking like she hasn't even heard him. "Her birthday came when you had disappeared and Stevie had just gone missing. It was her very first birthday and I missed it because I was out hanging up posters about the two of you."  
  
She's openly crying now, but Blaine doesn't try to comfort her. He has a feeling touching her right now would only leave him with a black eye.  
  
"I'm sorry," is all he can say.  
  
"Why?" Quinn asks. "You aren't the one who forgot, and it's not like I didn't know she was somewhere safe. We thought you were dead, you were more important."  
  
"But we weren't," Blaine says. "Not to you."  
  
Quinn cries harder, burying her face in her hands.  
  
"She should be everything and I couldn't even remember. I know I don't deserve her. I'm a stupid, selfish girl who let herself get pregnant in high school, but I don't care. I can't stop how I feel. I can't stop that I need her, even if all I do is let her down, even when I'm not with her."  
  
Blaine passes her now full glass back to her.  
  
"It doesn't feel much better if you get what you want, anyhow," he says.   
  
Quinn makes a small snorting sound and smirks at him knowingly through her tears as she takes the wine.   
  
***  
  
Kurt isn't exactly thrilled by Blaine's friendship with Quinn.  
  
"I don't think you two are healthy for each other right now," he says flatly after the subject has come up.  
  
"Why not?" Blaine asks, genuinely surprised and a little annoyed. "Because she quit glee club? There's more to life than your high school singing career, Kurt."  
  
"How shallow do you think I am?" Kurt says. "It's not about that. You're a bad influence on each other. Your parents think so, too."  
  
"The only reason they don't like Quinn is because they've caught her in my room a couple mornings before they leave for work. They can't decide if I'm fucking her when they've already decided I'm gay and it makes them nervous. Is that what _your_  problem is? You're mad that she got into bed with me before you did, aren't you? Admit it."  
  
"I'd like to think that when we do get into bed together we'll have better things to worry about than getting pot ash between the sheets," Kurt sniffs, refusing to rise to the bait.  
  
Quinn has taken to visiting as late as three o'clock in the morning. It starts after Blaine mentions that he never sleeps more than 2 hours at a time, a problem they both seem to share. Eventually he slips a key under one of the rocks in the garden and tells her the alarm code and now more than once he's woken up from the unpleasant beginnings of very bad dreams to her sliding into bed alongside him, various illegal substances in tow. It's never anything serious - they've never moved beyond pot and whatever alcohol they can get their hands on, but for Kurt apparently it's more than enough to start passing judgement.  
  
"You never bothered me about this kind of thing before," he protests. "It's no different than what I did in Lima."  
  
"It's different," Kurt insists. "You're in a good a place now, Blaine. No one's hurting you and you're surrounded by people who don't just want to help, they really can. Why are you acting like you still live with him?"  
  
 _Because in my head I still do_ , Blaine thinks, but he doesn't say anything. Kurt just doesn't understand, as much as Blaine wants him to. But Quinn knows all about getting trapped in a place everyone else around her has forgotten about. They don't try to help each other because they aren't looking to be fixed when they're together. Out loud he just laughs it off and says,  
  
"Come on, Kurt. I promise it's nothing bad. Are you sure you're not just jealous?"  
  
Kurt refuses to be distracted and just frowns,  
  
"It's not just about you, you know. You're hurting her, too."  
  
Blaine has his own opinions about that. He doesn't fight with Quinn, he just listens. Listening never hurt anyone. The fact that they're getting drunk and high in his parent's house never even registers as one of the negative things Kurt was talking about until one night when Quinn is gone and he has a nightmare featuring Tom breaking into the house, livid over Blaine's betrayal, and Blaine is so scared he can almost taste it until Tom reaches out to him and starts pulling down his boxers. This, at least, is something he knows always keeps Tom happy, so he lies there as quietly as he can, trying not to move, trying not to fight back. The worst part of it is the thought that his parents could walk in and see something any second. The dream scares him as much as the nightmares Blaine usually has about the security guard, which is an upsetting thing to think about. His regular nightmares are bad enough, but if the Tom dreams start to get as bad as the dreams about the guard, Blaine might as well find a gun to go put himself out of his misery, because there's no way he can deal with feeling like he's gone through the motions of reliving a rape every night.  
  
He's lying in his bed, trying to make his hands stop shaking, hoping that tonight will be one of the nights Quinn comes to visit, but the hours drag past and she never shows. Finally Blaine can't take it anymore. He knows if he stays inside another second he's going to lose his mind - start screaming, maybe, and never stop again. He just needs something to make his head stop spinning and his heart stop racing.  
  
He's outside and halfway through the joint when a light turns on in his parent's room. A few minutes later, the door is opening and his dad is looking out cautiously, asking,  
  
"Is someone out there?"  
  
"It's just me," Blaine says. "I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep."  
  
"Oh," his dad says, standing awkwardly in the doorway. "Did...did you want to talk about it or anything?"  
  
Blaine shrugs, nowhere near ready to admit what's keeping him awake.  
  
"I'm fine," he says. "I'm almost done anyhow. I'll come back inside in a minute."  
  
"Are you smoking?" His dad asks, and the question carries a faint edge of something with it. Not anger or annoyance, but maybe something like disbelief.  
  
"Yes?" Blaine says, a little confused. "Is there a problem?"  
  
"Yes," his dad says, slowly. "You're smoking. That's a problem. I don't like seeing you do that, it's not healthy."  
  
"Well what else am I supposed to do?" Blaine asks, probably a little too sharply, but he's just so tired and trying to understand what his parents want from him is exhausting enough on a normal day. "I know it's not fantastic for my lungs, but it doesn't work as well when you put it in brownies."  
  
"What?" His dad sounds downright incredulous now, as he steps outside and walks over to smell the smoke curling out of the cigarette. "Blaine, why the hell are you sitting outside smoking pot in the middle of the night?"  
  
"It helps me sleep," Blaine says, equally incredulous, because he can't for the life of him work out why this is a big deal. "Look, I'm not asking you to join or anything. I get that a lot of people don't like it, but I'm not hurting anything."  
  
"Your sister's window is right above your head, Blaine."  
  
"It's not like she can get hotboxed from all the way out here," Blaine says. If he were more awake he'd just apologize and be more careful not to get caught the next time, but right now his frustration is winning out. "I don't just leave this stuff lying around where she can find it, and if I ever smoke inside with Quinn we do it by the window so the smell doesn't go through the house."  
  
"And do the two of you ever take the time to make sure you've properly gotten rid of the embers in the middle of the night when you're too high to stay awake? This is not only stupid, it's incredibly dangerous, Blaine. I assumed something was going on with you and Quinn when we mysteriously started to have more empties in the recycling than usual, but I didn't say anything because I'd rather she stay the night instead of drive back to Lima when she's not sober, but this puts the entire house in danger. What the hell were you thinking?"  
  
The door opens again and his mother steps out, asking about what's going on, but Blaine doesn't pay any attention to her.  
  
"I'm thinking you have no right to tell me what I can and can't do, or that I'm being stupid and reckless when you know nothing about me."  
  
"I think you're out of control," his dad says.  
  
"Tell me something I don't know," Blaine snaps. "Why do you think I'm sitting out here at 4:30 in the morning getting high? Impulse? I'm here because I need all of this to stop, okay? I need to take a fucking break from being me, and nothing else works."  
  
"Blaine, if you're feeling overwhelmed, you can always talk to us," his mother says, not missing a beat.  
  
"I don't  _know_  you," Blaine shouts. "Why would I talk to you about this? Just because you're technically my parents doesn't mean you know anything about what I'm going through, or that you're going to be able to help me with any of the things that keep me awake at night."  
  
"And Quinn  _does_  help?" His dad asks. Blaine can't quite decide if he sounds hurt or not.  
  
"No," Blaine says. "She doesn't do a thing. But she doesn't pretend like she has any of the answers, either. She doesn't fixate on one thing and act like if I stop doing that my life will turn around."  
  
"No one's saying that," his father starts, but his mother cuts him off, calmly.  
  
"Blaine, we know you're struggling, and that's normal. No one expects you to act like the last nine years never happened, but you can't lock yourself away from the people who are trying to help you cope. Getting into the habit of abusing addictive substances of any kind is only going to hurt you later on."  
  
"It's just pot," Blaine says, angrily. "People actually get it prescribed to them when they're sick. I'm not taking it because I like feeling like I'm fighting the system or whatever. I smoke it because it helps."  
  
"You're drinking because it helps, too," his dad says, in this voice that makes it really obvious that he thinks he's finally gained the upper hand when he so hasn't.   
  
"So?" he says, which is the sort of argument a two-year-old uses, but it's the best he can come up with right now. He's not about to let his dad think he's won something.  
  
"So you can't start doing something like self-medicating without running into major issues when you're older," Dad says.  
  
"They're called controlled substances because they need to be monitored by a professional," his mother adds and he thinks the most frustrating thing about this entire confrontation is how logical and level-headed they're being when he feels like he's flying apart in all directions. "If you think you need to be put on medication, you need to start talking to Dr. Hong in your sessions with her. If you can't handle what you're feeling that's fine, but you need to talk to someone who can find out the best way to help you."  
  
" _I_  know the best way to help me," Blaine protests. " _I_  know what I need, and what I need is for you people to trust me a little bit. I'm not going to turn into a crack head living in cardboard box downtown because I'm an underage drinker and I get high sometimes. I hardly even do it anymore, not when you compare to how much I did it when I lived with Tom, before I met Kurt."  
  
"What does Kurt have to do with this?" His dad asks.  
  
"He doesn't like it when I get high, either," Blaine admits. "So I talk to him when I know it will help. I don't talk to Quinn because when she's over I'm past talking, okay?"  
  
"If talking to Kurt won't help, you can talk to us," Mom insists. "We're always willing to listen."  
  
"But I don't want you to hear!" Blaine says, wanting to shout again, but fortunately aware enough of his surroundings to keep his voice down to an angry hiss. "I don't  _want_  to talk to you about this, okay? And you don't want to hear it. You don't  _want_  to hear about how I'm scared that people will blame me if I have to get on a witness stand and admit that sometimes I convinced Tom to have sex with me because I felt like I had to earn the right to stay with him. You don't _want_  to hear about the nightmares I have about him and his fucking friends that make me too scared to go back to sleep without someone in the room with me. You keep saying you want to know me better, but don't fucking flatter yourselves, because none of us want that."  
  
He pushes past them into the house and goes back to his room. They don't follow him.  
  
***  
  
He goes from angry to panicked in about five seconds but he manages to hold out against calling Kurt until 6 o'clock, when he knows he'll be getting up to get ready for work anyhow.  
  
"I really fucked things up, Kurt," he says immediately, forgoing any sort of greeting. "I think I ruined everything."  
  
"They're not mad," Is the first thing Kurt says, once Blaine's explained enough of what's happened. "It's just hard right now. You're all just adjusting, that's all. And it's not like I didn't tell you the way you were dealing with everything was a mistake."  
  
"I don't understand why this is so bad to everyone," Blaine says, helplessly. "It's just what I do. I'm not addicted to anything, I'm not the only one who does it, it's just one of those things. I don't get it."  
  
"I know you don't," Kurt says, and Blaine can hear him smile. Sometimes Kurt turns doe-eyed over the weirdest things, like when he acts like an idiot and has to ask for help after. Blaine is pretty sure it's just sad, but he's heard that tone to Kurt's voice more often than not when he calls asking about what he should do. The one time he got frustrated and asked what the problem was, Kurt only said, "I love that you care enough about them to try to fix it." Blaine pretends he doesn't notice anymore, because someone thinking he's wonderful when all he's doing is proving all the reasons why he most definitely isn't makes him feel twice as uncomfortable.  
  
"How bad are you?" Kurt asks. "I can come after work, or I can take the day off and stop by."  
  
"Please don't do that," Blaine says, almost interrupting. "Your dad already thinks I'm pathetic and beyond help. Let's not add to it."  
  
"He does not," Kurt says, but Blaine knows it's not true. "He likes you. You should be counting your blessings, because no one expected my boyfriends to go over with him. You make the whole process so easy, I may just have to keep you."  
  
Blaine is momentarily distracted by hearing Kurt call him that, just like he is every other time he hears it, but it doesn't change that Kurt is dead wrong. Even though Burt is civil and calm to him when they talk, treating Blaine just like the next person, Blaine can tell that he's never forgotten how Blaine had to call and ask for help, or how embarrassingly needy he'd been that night after Anthony's party. He hasn't forgotten the cast or the bruises or how Blaine was so stupid he didn't want his own parents to find him. Burt doesn't like Blaine, he just pities him, and Kurt is too nice to admit it.   
  
"Seriously," Kurt says. "Do you want me to come over right now? I'll lie to my dad and tell him Mercedes is having a wardrobe emergency."  
  
"He'll see right through that," Blaine mutters.  
  
"It's happened before," Kurt says, and while Blaine doesn't doubt that, he knows Burt would still know the real reason. Lately the only time Mercedes and Kurt are involved in any sort of emergency these days is when they both happen to be out somewhere and Blaine calls up in a panic. He really is the worst boyfriend of all time.  
  
"Blaine," Kurt starts, but Blaine cuts him off.  
  
"Seriously Kurt, you can't keep coming to my rescue all the time like this," He thinks his argument would carry more weight if he didn't sound traumatized like someone who is watching a puppy get its head ripped off two feet away from him. "I just really wanted to hear your voice right now, but I'll be fine. I can do this."  
  
"Do you promise?" Kurt asks.  
  
"I promise," Blaine confirms.  
  
"Okay," Kurt says, "I'll believe you, but first tell me what you plan on doing if I don't come over."  
  
"I'm going to stay in my room and keep ignoring my parents whenever they try to talk to me through the door."  
  
"Which is what they're doing right now?" Kurt asks.  
  
"You can hear it?" Blaine asks. "They've been coming by and trying to get me to talk about once every half hour or so. They're really persistent right now. I think because they have to leave soon?"  
  
"They can probably hear you talking to me and know you're not sleeping," Kurt says. "You should talk to them before they leave. You get that it's really obvious that they don't hate you, right?"  
  
"I get that no one in this house wants to let me be my own person. I can't help it if my own person is an extension of someone they hate. They should have thought about that before they decided to take me back."  
  
"You're the only one who doesn't get that you're nothing like Tom," Kurt says patiently. Blaine doesn't understand how he can always be so patient with him.  
  
"I should come over," Kurt says, like he's already decided.  
  
"What?" Blaine says. "No, Kurt, come on. I already told you that I'm going to be okay on my own. Listen to me. Listen to my voice. You've heard me worse than this, right? It's nothing."  
  
"It's a fight, Blaine," Kurt says. "It's not nothing, especially since I'm pretty sure you've never done that before. I'm also pretty sure you've never even gotten frustrated with them without having a complete breakdown until this morning. You're practically a normal teenager now. We should celebrate."  
  
"A normal teenager would be grounded," Blaine says, not that he has much experience with being grounded, but he's been watching lots of old TGIF shows now that he has entire days to himself. "And I still freaked out. I wouldn't be talking to you if I hadn't freaked out."  
  
"Don't take this the wrong way," Kurt says. "Because you know I don't mind, but normally when something happens you call right away, and if you don't? I can't get a coherent word out of you for at least half an hour. Not only did you hold off for over an hour before you called me, you weren't spouting gibberish when you did, either. Face it, Blaine. You're getting good at this whole son thing."  
  
Blaine snorts a little, leaning his head against the window.  
  
"I know for a fact you aren't this big of a freak when you're having fights with your dad," he says.  
  
"Not normally," Kurt says, his voice no longer teasing. "But you didn't see me while he was in the hospital. We'd been mid-fight when that happened. When I thought I was going to lose him, I got really bad. Just ask Finn and Carole sometime. You'll get better at family when you're not afraid you'll lose them all the time. I promise."  
  
It takes a while but Blaine finally convinces Kurt to go to work and even though it means his day will now be painfully boring, it would be a lie to say he's not pleased with himself. In the afternoon he goes out with Cynthia, after an agonizing morning spent ignoring his parents' phone calls. Taking Cynthia to the park lets him run away from the problem but he can still pretend he's being a responsible brother, because going to the park is about the only way to get her energy levels down to something manageable. As an added bonus, she's also really easy to handle at a park. The most he has to do is pretend to watch her on the monkey bars, push her on the swing, or if she starts getting too bossy, say, "Hey! I bet you can't run around this entire playground five times really fast."   
  
He ends up spending most of his time there trying to interpret badly spelled texts from Stevie, who in addition to having a bad day that's resulted in him refusing to leave his house, has also stolen Sam's cell. Blaine thinks that overall Stevie is probably doing better than he is at adjusting, but from what Quinn and Sam have told him, it's still pretty bad sometimes. Once Sam, who still hasn't heard the whole story yet, called him up in tears, demanding,  
  
"What the hell happened to him while you were gone?"  
  
That's how Blaine found out that when Stevie has a bad nightmare they have to keep the doors locked.  
  
"He didn't even recognize us and tried to run out into the street. I had to grab him before he ran in front of a car and I felt like  _I_  was the one who needed to go to jail."  
  
Blaine has no idea how he's supposed to help Sam figure out a way to handle Stevie when he can barely handle himself, but Kurt says he thinks Sam isn't really looking for a solution.  
  
"You're the only one who really gets what it was like for Stevie," he says after Blaine tells him about the phone call. "And Sam still pretty much thinks you fight crime when Westerville goes to sleep at night, so he probably just wants to remind himself that Stevie can get better. You know, so he remembers that one day Stevie could grow up to become you."  
  
A comment like that pretty much required a hand job at the very least, but before Blaine could even manage to get Kurt's belt undone Carole had gotten home and started calling up the stairs, asking if anyone was home. Kurt had squirmed away from Blaine so fast it reminded Blaine of Cynthia's laboured attempts at eating Jell-o: lots of action, but very little payoff. Which Blaine supposed was a legitimate enough reason to back off, for once. But the problem is something always seems to get in the way whenever he tries to move things anywhere beyond kissing with Kurt. It seems like he's forever running into road blocks and he isn't sure what the problem is. He knows Kurt is into it, he can _feel_  how into it Kurt is, but whenever he so much as tries to grind against him, Kurt pulls away, all bright smiles and excuses, genuinely happy but still determined to put two feet of air between them, like they're at a goddamn Bible camp or something. It's starting to get to him, but then, just about everything is starting to get to him now.  
  
His parents treat him like glass, his sister treats him like a mildly interesting family friend, his therapist treats him like a science experiment, Quinn treats him like scenery, Sam treats him like a superhero, and now his boyfriend treats him like a blushing virgin. Blaine wonders what his life would be like if someone were to just treat him like he's normal.  
  
***  
  
Then again, sometimes normal is admittedly overrated. Blaine might have a boyfriend who skitters away from him like a frightened bunny rabbit at the slightest hint of sex, but he still has a boyfriend who is funny, and easy to talk to, and who always knows exactly what to do to make him feel better about whatever happens to be going on in his life. So much has changed since he ran away from Tom, it's a relief to know that at least he still gets to have this one thing.  
  
Cynthia had been extra rowdy at the park today, probably because of all the tension she couldn't understand between him and their parents, so he's waited a little longer than usual before taking her home. She doesn't like being tricked by Blaine into getting so tired she falls asleep in the afternoons, but she's also really stupid, so all he needs to do to get her nicely exhausted is pretend multiple times that he's miscounted how many laps she's run.  
  
"Five? What? No, no way that was five. You've only been running long enough to go around three times at least. You're not a cheetah, Cynthia, you're a girl. Have they taught you how to count yet in school? Oh okay, well maybe you're right, but how about you start over and count out loud for every time you end up back where you started? That way we'll be sure. Ready? And go! Go, go, go! I'm timing you! Don't waste time arguing!"  
  
They took so long today, that he's only just watched her collapse on the floor of the family room in front of  _Tangled_ when the doorbell rings. Kurt is there with a big smile on his face when he answers, cradling a photo album in his arms and looking so pleased with himself, Blaine is immediately wary.  
  
"What's going on?" he asks, suspiciously, making no move to stand aside and let Kurt in. Not that it matters, as Kurt pushes past on his own brightly answering,  
  
"I got you a present."  
  
"For what?" Blaine asks.  
  
"I told you this morning," Kurt says, sounding like he's a little hurt that Blaine's forgotten, but Blaine isn't too worried about having forgotten something important. He knows that self-satisfied gleam in Kurt's eyes too well by now.  
  
Sure enough, Kurt drops the act and starts grinning like the Cheshire Cat as he singsongs,  
  
"You've started fighting with your par-ents."  
  
He holds up the album.  
  
"Like I said, we should celebrate. Especially because the whole thing could have been avoided if you'd just listened to me in the first place. Which means I'm smarter than you."  
  
"You're joking," Blaine says, shaking his head a little. "This is seriously what your lame therapy books are coming up with to help me adjust?"  
  
"The therapy books aren't brilliant enough to come up with this sort of thing," Kurt says, his hand fluttering out a small wave of dismissal. "This is all me. Dad had to answer the phone three times today because I was so focused on getting this ready for tonight."  
  
After Blaine has haphazardly thrown a blanket on the down-for-the-count Cynthia it's easier to pretend they're alone in the room with only a pile of laundry in front of them to distract them from each other. Kurt snuggles up against Blaine on the couch and hands him the album.  
  
Blaine opens the first page to see a girl staring up at him. The photo is carefully centered and the page is awash with glitter and stars and stickers of unicorns. The girl herself doesn't look familiar to Blaine, but she has a pretty, cheeky smile, long blonde hair, pale blue eyes and a low cut top showing off her cleavage. It takes a moment for Blaine to realize that she's also holding a placard in front of her chest with numbers written on it.  
  
"What is this?" He asks, confused.  
  
"It's my gift to you, Blaine," Kurt shushes. "Turn the page."  
  
The next page is as lavishly decorated as the first, albeit with the unicorn stickers swapped out for  _Precious Moments_. It's the same girl in the mug shot, with a caption reading "9 Months Later" above it, in elaborate handwriting, written with what appears to be a glitter pen. The girl's face is now pallid, her eyes unfocused and staring vacantly off in two different directions. Her cheeks are sunken, her hair limp and dirty, and the smile gone. The shirt is still low-cut, but where there was once cleavage there is now only skin and bones. Her face is covered with sores.  
  
"That's attractive," Blaine says. "This is very nice Kurt, I like the stickers, but do you maybe want to get to the point?"  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," Kurt says. "I thought the implication was fairly obvious. This is the face of your future. You know, because of the path you've chosen to take."  
  
"I see," Blaine says, flipping another page. More glitter,  _My Little Ponies_  this time. "I'm glad that you're trying to show interest in my interests, but you remember how I'm not a meth head, right? I could have sworn we've had this conversation before."  
  
"Really?" Kurt says, as he cuddles closer and looks over Blaine's shoulder. "Well, have we had the one where I tell you I think marijuana smells like someone successfully set their own body odour on fire?"  
  
"Don't think I've heard that one yet," Blaine says, flipping another page. "It's good though. Well said."  
  
He lifts up the album to get a better look at the picture in front of him before finally saying,  
  
"Actually, I think this person looks  _better_  after five years of drug use."  
  
"Dammit," Kurt mutters. "I knew I shouldn't have put that one in there."  
  
They flip through a few more pages, making the odd comment, before Blaine softly says,  
  
"Kurt, you know I'm never going to be one of these people, right? I get that this is just to be funny, and I think you're awesome right now, but you know I'll never end up like this, right?"  
  
"I know," Kurt says, simply. "That's why I made this. I know you'll be fine, Blaine. You have people to help you. I know you hate it, but everyone's watching too closely to let you get into something you can't get out of. Even Quinn, in her own way. But that doesn't mean you're not making this harder on yourself than it has to be. The only way you're going to feel like you belong is you start letting yourself feel what it's like to let people in."  
  
"I've let you in," Blaine says.  
  
Kurt leans over and kisses the corner of his mouth.  
  
"Yeah," he smiles. "Now the trick is to let  _more_  people in. You don't have to put a limit on the people you love."  
  
"I never said I didn't love them," Blaine says. "I just love them differently than how I love you, that's all."  
  
Kurt is silent for a moment, giving Blaine a chance to think over what he's just said. His heart stops for the smallest moment, and then starts pounding double time, as he desperately racks his mind for something, anything, that will magically take back the words that just left his mouth. He stops worrying and just goes with it the next second though, when Kurt firmly reaches out and places a hand on Blaine's cheek, forcing him to look right at Kurt before Kurt tackles him a little and kisses him for real, the photo album sliding to the floor forgotten, as they try to make out as quietly as possible.  
  
"I love you, too," Kurt whispers into his ear.  
  
They've both returned to their proper, photo album-browsing, non-compromising positions by the time his mother walks in the door, followed shortly after by his dad. One day Blaine is going to ask how they get home so close to the same time.  
  
"Hey boys," his mother says, nudging at the sleeping pile of blankets with her toe, even after it starts to mutter angrily at the intrusion. It's just as well. The last thing Blaine wants is to see Cynthia so well-rested she spends the entire night singing stupid songs at the top of her lungs. Again.  
  
"Hi Mrs. Anderson," Kurt smiles, manners on full blast, as always. "How was your day?"  
  
"Not bad," she says. "Your dad and I were pretty worried about you though, Blaine."  
  
She looks at him pointedly. "We both tried calling you after we left. You didn't answer."  
  
"Yeah," Blaine says, unable to meet her eyes, and then his dad is there, coming out of the study after putting away his briefcase, and compounding the awkwardness.  
  
"I'm sorry I got so upset with you this morning, I guess," he manages. "I mean, I'm still not sorry about actually smoking the pot, but you were right that I wasn't handling things the right way. I just panicked, and I haven't really been giving you a chance to try and help with any of what's going on, either."  
  
"We can talk about it later," his dad says, glancing at Kurt with an odd expression. Suddenly Blaine is aware of how close he still is to Kurt. There isn't even an inch of space between them. He feels his face heat up as his father continues. "We can sort out some safer ways for you work through some of this, but all we really wanted to say to you before we left was that we're not mad at you. This isn't easy for any of us, and we won't agree on everything, but we're not going to punish you for something that's never gotten you into trouble before. When you do something wrong, we want to let you know why it's not okay instead of automatically penalizing you for it. We'll handle these problems as they happen, okay?"  
  
Blaine nods, and Kurt pokes him in the sides, right where Kurt  _knows_  he's ticklish, the bastard, and says,  
  
"You really lucked out on the parent department, you know that? If  _my_  dad caught me hanging out with Quinn Fabray and drinking her mother's overpriced wine collection while we smoked pot, I would  _not_  get a chance to talk about his expectations of me."  
  
Blaine rolls his eyes.  
  
"Please," he says. "You wouldn't know a mind-altering drug if it bit you in the ass."  
  
"You don't know my life, Blaine," Kurt snits with a smirk. "I lived a rough life before I met you. True story. See?"  
  
He grabs the photo album from Blaine and flips forward almost to the end, where he's placed a picture of an impeccably well-dressed little boy who can only be Kurt in the before picture, and then flips the page to show a shot of himself dressed as Riff-Raff from the year before. It's the same shot Blaine took in the basement of the old Hummel house that first night he went over for the  _Top Model_  marathon.  
  
His mother laughs out loud and snatches the book from off of their laps.  
  
"What the hell is this?" she demands before looking a little closer at the page and adding. "And where did you find _Angelina Ballerina_  stickers?"  
  
Even his dad is laughing as he looks at the picture with his wife and listens to Kurt's embarrassed explanations. As Blaine fights the urge to bury his head into Kurt's neck and laugh, he feels a little twinge of sadness come over him, because the more Kurt visits, the more his parents are charmed by him. Blaine wishes he was brave enough to tell them the truth, because sometimes he needs them to understand that for as good a friend as Kurt is, he's an infinitely better boyfriend. He wants them to know so badly it almost hurts.  
  
Kurt is the greatest thing that's ever happened to him, and he can't work up the courage to properly explain why.

***

The day everything changes, and doesn't, is the day his parents find out he's gay. Only "find out" isn't the right way to put it, since Blaine is still certain they've been trying to coerce some sort of confession out of him ever since he's gotten home, like they think a person couldn't have sex that many times without learning how to like it. Like a guy can't have a friend like Kurt without playing for the other team, even though technically that's not fair to his parents, because lots of people figure out that Blaine and Kurt like each other just by being around them. They're so obvious that David's blind great-grandmother figured out they were a couple after talking to them for 2 minutes earlier that summer. Admittedly that was kind of embarrassing, but Blaine thinks even if it is that noticeable, his own parents shouldn't make those kinds of assumptions.  
  
To their credit, Blaine supposes that it's nice that they don't give up on waiting for his big confession to happen organically in favour of sitting him down and forcing him to own up, but in the end their patience doesn't do him much good at all, not in the face of his raging stupidity. When it happens, they're being so non-invasive, they aren't even trying to make him talk about what he's done that day, let alone make him stop hiding his sexual orientation. All that they're doing is talking about school in the fall.  
  
Blaine has been enrolled at Westerville for over a month by now. Every day he thinks he might finally ask them if he can go to Dalton instead, armed with a long list of logical and practical reasons. Every day the list goes unsaid, and he's pretty well resigned himself to starting up at yet another school where no one knows him and he has to get by making himself as unnoticeable as possible, even though this time his face has been on the news so often there's probably no way he can make that happen short of skipping every single day and hiding under the bleachers.   
  
Blaine doesn't believe in miracles or good luck, so when his dad comes home from work one day quieter than usual, looking at Blaine with a pinched expression when he doesn't think anyone is paying attention, Blaine automatically braces himself for the worst. He feels every look being thrown his direction, even though he pretends he doesn't notice. He can always tell when they stare at him like that, like they're waiting for him to break down and start crying, or maybe start ripping apart small children.  
  
This time his mother notices, too, which means it must be even worse than usual, and she calls Dad away to talk in private. She tries to be subtle about it, though, asking if anyone would like to come help her make dinner, at which his father leaps up to volunteer so suddenly, it's like it's killing him inside that it's not his night to cook, like there's nothing he loves more in the world than cooking, as evidenced by all the tons of frozen lasagne and pasta they eat on the nights he's in charge. It would be funny if Blaine didn't know this wasn't somehow about him.  
  
They talk in the kitchen for a long time, until Cynthia goes in and whines about how she's so hungry her legs feel weak. Blaine starts counting in his head as soon as he sits down at the table, wondering how long his parents will hold out before they let him know what's bothering them. It takes almost half the meal of Blaine picking at his plate, his nervousness steadily increasing the longer they wait, before they finally quit half-heartedly reminding Cynthia to stop talking every now and then so she actually remembers to ingest food, and admit they have something else on their minds.  
  
"I was speaking to someone at work today about you, Blaine," his dad says, full of that false casualness Blaine has gotten used to by now. He says nothing, just sits quietly as he stares at his plate and waits for the other shoe to drop.  
  
"He has a son your age and wanted to know where you would be going to school."  
  
Blaine carefully sets down his fork, trying to convince himself that he won't start banging his head against the wall if they're trying to arrange a goddamn babysitter for him in the fall.   
  
"He goes to Westerville High?" He manages, fairly neutrally he thinks.  
  
"He used to," his dad says, looking anxious again. "He actually transferred out his freshman year. His dad was telling me some things about the administration over there that worried me."  
  
"What did he say?" Blaine asks. He has no idea where all of this is going.  
  
"His son was very outspoken when he went there," his mom says when she sees his dad faltering. "He attracted a lot of negative attention and was bullied on a daily basis."  
  
"The man I worked with thought we should be very careful about sending you to Westerville," his dad says. "He said their bullying solution was a joke, and that they can be somewhat prejudiced when it comes to helping certain students. Apparently their equal treatment ends up being that they help their struggling students the exact same way they punish their bad ones."  
  
He sighs a little and rubs his forehead.  
  
"He told me during his son's freshman year he was beaten up so badly at one of the school dances he had to go the hospital. Not only did the teacher chaperones ignore him after he was attacked, forcing him to wait for his dad to pick him up before he was able to get to an emergency room, when he finally made it back to school, he was put into the remedial class, which constantly included at least one of the kids who attacked him at any given time."  
  
"Why didn't anyone press charges?" Blaine asks, feeling a little horrified.  
  
His dad shrugs.  
  
"None of the witnesses would back up his statement, and he was already scared enough of retaliation as it was. No one could convince him to do it."  
  
"So why are you telling me this?" Blaine asks. "To make sure I keep my head down?"  
  
"Blaine, if that's truly how the school handles conflict we don't want you there period," his mother says. "But your dad and I have been talking about it and it would incredibly stupid to send you to a school that's so obviously dangerous for you specifically."  
  
"What do you mean?" Blaine asks. "Because everyone knows who I am?"  
  
"That boy was a target because he was gay and didn't care who knew it," his mother says bluntly, and Blaine feels like someone's punched him in the stomach. "Everyone knows what happened to you, Blaine. You don't even have the option of hiding it if you want to. It's going to be hard no matter where you go, but I don't even want to think about what some people might do to you if they don't have to worry about the consequences."  
  
Blaine blinks hard and stares at his plate of cold food, not trusting himself to say a word.  
  
"I'm sorry it has to be like this," his dad says, obviously frustrated. "It's bad enough that creep forced you into this situation in the first place, but you shouldn't be going to a school where ignorant people are allowed to punish you for something you can't control."  
  
Blaine doesn't know what he's supposed to say now, because he  _doesn't_  want to go to Westerville, but not because everyone and their dog knows what he's been doing for the last nine years. Not because his parents are embarrassed by what happened and don't want to be reminded about how their perfect son was turned into some sick, deformed copy of what should have been. Blaine wishes there was a way to make all of this okay for them. His entire relationship with them is grounded in their disappointment.  
  
"I'm sorry," he mutters. "I should have tried harder."  
  
"To do what?" his mom asks, sounding genuinely confused.   
  
"When I was living with him it was so much easier to be the way that he wanted, I never thought about what would happen if I left. I never thought about what it would look like to anyone else who found out what was happening. And I know it looks bad, okay? I know it makes it look like I wanted it, and it turns my family into a joke, but I never even thought about people being able to tell before I came back here. I don't want them to. I mean, at least I'm  _trying_  to hide it."  
  
"Hide  _what_?" His mother sounds even more lost than she did moments before, and is beginning to sound a little alarmed besides. Blaine realizes his eyes are stinging and nothing he's saying is making sense to anyone else, but he keeps trying.  
  
"I try to keep people from seeing that I like guys." His voice is so tight he can barely get the words out. His father actually goes gray as he sits there listening and it makes Blaine recoil, as he stands up from the table and shakily backs away, putting more distance between them.  
  
"I'm sorry," he says again. "I didn't want to do this to you. I don't really know if he made me turn out this way, if it's like it's my fault for not trying hard enough to get away or whatever, but in the end the only thing that matters is that  _he's_ gay and now  _I'm_  gay and it's just like I'm bringing a piece of him into the house with me and I know it's wrong to do that to you and I'm sorry but I can't just turn it off. I don't even think I  _want_  to turn it off. So I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did this to you, and that I disappointed you, and that I turned out to be a pervert just like him - "  
  
"Blaine," his father says, sharply. He's still looking at him like he's going to be sick. "That's enough. Diane? Could you take Cynthia to her room, please?"  
  
"What?" Cynthia says. "No, no I want to stay."  
  
Her voice is distressed and almost pleading. Blaine's never heard her argue without whining before. She's crying a little when he looks at her to watch as his mom firmly guides her away. He can hear the worried demands for an explanation all the way up the stairs.  
  
"What's wrong with Blaine? What did the man do to him? You said the man wouldn't hurt him anymore so why is he crying?"  
  
Blaine is so wrapped up in listening and wondering when she started to care he doesn't notice his father getting up until he's standing right next to him, saying, "Blaine? Let's talk in the living room, okay?" As he talks he reaches out and carefully puts his hand on Blaine's back. The contact feels revolting, like the nerve endings just under his skin haven't caught up to the rest of his body and are still trapped in what used to be Blaine's life. It's like Tom is standing there in the room with him, touching him, destroying the safe feeling and taking the one thing that only his real father has ever been able to offer.  
  
"Please don't touch me," he begs, and his dad pulls back so fast it's like he's been burned.  
  
"Okay," he says. "Okay. But can we please talk about this, maybe in the living room? I think we really need to talk about this."  
  
Blaine nods shakily, because there's really no way to avoid it anymore. When he walks into the living room, the furniture looks comfortable and entirely uninviting. The last thing his body wants right now is a comfortable place to sit when all he wants to do is run away. He's cautiously sitting down on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest and back pushed up against the hard and awkward angles of the entertainment centre when his mother walks in and joins his dad, sitting down on the couch to face him.  
  
"Okay," she says carefully, like she's trying to figure out the best way to start out hostage negotiations. "Do you want to tell us what got you so upset in there, Blaine? Is it the idea that people will think you're gay because of everything that's happened? Because I don't want to upset you anymore than you already are, sweetie, but I think you'll be seeing a lot of that. This is going to be very hard for a lot of people to understand."  
  
Blaine presses his face into the fronts of his legs. His voice is muffled when he answers,  
  
"They aren't going to think anything that isn't true."  
  
"I doubt that," his dad says, trying to sound dismissive, but mostly coming across shaky. "You need to remember a lot of people are very confused about what happened to you, and I think you also need to remember that  _you're_  one of those people, Blaine."  
  
That makes Blaine look up, a flash of anger overtaking the fear.  
  
"What am I confused about?" he demands. "I'm the one who lived it. I know how I kept listening to his bullshit way longer than any smart person would. I'm the one who lay down and took it when I should have kept fighting back and trying to find a way out. I just let him take what he wanted, and I ended up growing up to be just like him. Some limp-wristed, child-fucking  _faggot_  - "  
  
"Blaine!" His dad snaps again, louder this time. "That's  _enough_. I don't  _ever_  want to hear you use those words when you talk about yourself again, am I clear?"  
  
Blaine just scowls at him.  
  
" _I'm_  not the one who's confused," he repeats.  
  
He rests his head back on his legs again as his mother says,  
  
"Blaine, please look at me."  
  
He doesn't move but she keeps talking anyhow.  
  
"You remember what Lola Grace told you, right? Being gay doesn't make you a bad person, and having been molested doesn't change that. It's not a punishment, it's just who you are."  
  
"You're not like Brenner," his dad says, firmly. "Are you worried because you like Kurt? Because a teenager who likes another teenager isn't morally wrong. It's normal, and it's wrong to compare those feelings to the feelings of a pedophile who targets 8-year-old boys."  
  
Blaine winces a little.  
  
"So," he says. "Not only do you already know how gay I am, even though you seem to think it's fun to act like it's not disgustingly obvious, you also know that I like Kurt Hummel?"  
  
Mom looks at him like Carole sometimes looks at Finn when he's just said something simultaneously stupid and charming.  
  
"You're both a little bit obvious."  
  
"Because I can't pass," Blaine says. "Right. I caught that part when you told me I was too gay for public school."  
  
That seems to be the last straw for his mother, who gets abruptly and moves to go sit beside him.  
  
"That is  _not_  what we meant," she says, pulling him against her side, holding him tighter when he tries to shift away. "Blaine, we were only worried that you might be targeted because the people who don't understand about what happened could make some inexcusable assumptions about whether or not you wanted it, not because of your sexual orientation. Even if it was obvious, it wouldn't matter to us. We never brought it up because we wanted you to tell us when you were ready."  
  
"I feel stupid," Blaine says flatly, leaning into his mother a little more readily. "I thought even if you knew I was gay I could keep you from finding out anything else, just in case you'd be more okay with it if I never did anything about it. I've been trying so hard to keep you from paying too much attention to Kurt and me, and you already figured everything out."  
  
His mother rubs his shoulder, consolingly.  
  
"It's okay that you like Kurt. We like Kurt, too. And we've known since the first time you had him over. Cynthia came running downstairs telling us you were kissing a boy."  
  
" _What_?" Blaine says. "We were  _not_  kissing when she came into the room. She's such a  _liar_."  
  
Blaine doesn't care if Wes thinks he'll get used to being a brother or not. They should totally trade Cynthia in for another cat. Mrs. Frisby would never do this to him.  
  
"Blaine," his mother says seriously. "You know there's nothing wrong with you, right?"  
  
Blaine starts laughing as soon as she's said it, and she makes a small frustrated noise before adding,  
  
"I mean that there's nothing wrong with you being gay."  
  
"I know," Blaine says, finally feeling brave enough to look up and make eye contact again. He freezes when he sees his father. For just a second, his dad's face is terrible: a strange mix of fear and sadness, repulsion, hatred, and worry. Blaine's heart lurches but the look is gone the next second, and all that's left is the sadness as he smiles at Blaine.  
  
"I know everyone says there's nothing wrong with me," Blaine says, his eyes never leaving his father's face. "But it still feels like there is, most of the time."  
  
His mother squeezes his shoulder again and he lets his head fall against her without even thinking about it first. It still feels strange, and it makes him nervous, but in a good way, sort of like the way he feels when he realizes he has real friends, which is something else he's never had much experience with. His dad stays on the couch, watching both of them with a now unreadable expression.  
  
After a while Cynthia has had enough and comes barging into the living room, demanding to know what's happening and threatening to tell on everyone if she doesn't stop getting punished when she didn't even do anything wrong. Blaine has his own opinions about the deranged little narc's innocence but he keeps them to himself. It's not until later that night he realizes that his father hasn't even come within four feet of him since Blaine told him to stay away.


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consent gets a little dubious in this section, so be aware of that going in. No one's in the right or the wrong, here. You won't finish the chapter thinking less of anyone involved. It's just a very complicated situation that most adults would have trouble navigating, let alone two inexperienced, emotionally vulnerable teenagers.

**Some Day**  
  
 _Adoption interviews are not made to make you feel good about yourself. They are not made to be easy. They are not made to convince you that you've made the right decision to decide to become a parent. It's hardly fair that anyone with complementary reproductive organs can fall into bed with each other and ride that poorly thought out wave straight into parenthood while the couple who wants to adopt is constantly scrutinized and judged for every single thing they've ever done. Blaine knows deep down this is the way it has to be - this is the way it_ should _be, but it doesn't make anything easier. Sitting in front of the social worker going over their background checks, Blaine is convinced that they might even have it a little worse than most other people who end up in the same position. Most people likely have the luxury of not having over half of their answers turn into long and embarrassing explanations about their very public personal lives, talking as if the interviewer doesn't already know all about it.  
  
"Have you ever been arrested?"  
  
"Have you ever broken the law? Taken any illegal drugs?"  
  
"What was your first experience looking after a child for an extended period of time?"  
  
"Describe the worst crisis you've faced in your life, both single and as a couple, and tell me how you overcame it."  
  
At least Blaine has never been arrested, so he has that going for him. Unfortunately, not only did he spend a significant period of his high school years high, he's never pulled punches about talking about it at fundraisers, either. Lying isn't an option, and he's left trying to pathetically justify his actions while Kurt looks at him sympathetically and squeezes his hand.  
  
The woman conducting the interview sniffs and looks at her notes for a long time before finally saying,  
  
"I see. Well, we'll certainly take that under advisement. Previous drug use isn't an automatic rejection in certain rare circumstances, and looking at the work you've done in raising awareness for children's rights and adoption advocacy, and since you've apparently kept yourself out of trouble since you were 16, we may find that we're able to carry on past this point. It helps that one of your referrals is a police detective and another - your primary employer I believe? - is connected with a number of different adoption organizations all of whom speak very highly of you and are specifically vouching for you in this matter. We should be able to let you know in a few weeks or so, but for now let's just continue the interview."  
  
Everyone and their dog have been telling Blaine how this speech will go almost verbatim. Detective Warren actually gave him a list of acceptable responses the last time they got together for coffee and coached him on how to hold himself while he answered.  
  
"They aren't police officers or anything," she says, looking over the sheet of paper intently, like she's handing over top secret strategies of war. "But they've still been trained to look for certain signs in your responses. Following these will make you look trustworthy and, more importantly, like you aren't trying to hide anything."  
  
"I'm not trying to hide anything," Blaine says, amused. "Why are you more nervous than I am about this?"  
  
"Because you're my favourite," she says in a frustrated voice. "I want you to be happy. You were an amazing kid and you're even more amazing now that you're an adult. One of the first things they teach you about this line of work is to never get involved emotionally, but I just...I see a lot of terrible things in my job, Blaine. I can handle it, I'll always be able to handle it, but it's nice to have someone I can turn to and point at and say, 'This is what I do it for.' I want to help put the bad guys away so the people who've gotten stepped on have a chance to come out of this as well as you have. And goddammit, if anyone deserves to have a family of his own, it's you."  
  
Blaine smiles at her.  
  
"You say things like that and it reminds me why you're _my _favourite, too."  
  
For as calming and stabilizing as she was when he had first been found and then when Tom went to trial, Blaine finds that he appreciates Detective Warren far more now that he's gotten to know her as an equal. She's hard-headed and logical and uncomfortably observant just like he always knew she was, but she means so much more to him now that he's had a chance to come into contact with so many other people who know his background. He's amazed at her capacity to accept who he is and what he's been through without weighing him down in awkward but well-meaning attempts to draw attention to it or to avoid it. It's just a fact of his past to her, and no matter how much it may have shaped who he is today, it's nothing she feels the need to fixate on. She's one of the only people he can act normally around without feeling like he needs to ignore huge pieces of his life to do so.  
  
She can't, unfortunately, make the first interview with the adoption agency any less awkward.   
  
"We have to ask all the questions," the social worker says, apologetically. "It's procedure. Try to pretend that I live in a cave and pay my bills by teaching interpretive dance or something and there's no way I could even be familiar with your name, if that makes it easier."  
  
"Right," Blaine smiles at her, weakly. "The first time I had experience looking after a small child was when the man who took me from my family wanted someone younger."  
  
He wonders vaguely if he should let Kurt take the lead on this one, but then remembers that Kurt's first time around children resulted in a catastrophic misunderstanding that resulted in Mercedes' little brother calling the fire department for help and thinks better of it. As sensationalized as Blaine's answers sound, at least they don't sound like the plot to a hilarious rerun of _I Love Lucy _.  
  
The answer about solving crises doesn't go much better. At least Kurt is able to talk about his father's heart attack, but the rest of what they say can't be that helpful in determining their ability as _parents _.  
  
"Both of your individual crises happened before you graduated high school," the social worker comments, not exactly disapprovingly but still a little helplessly.  
  
"Sorry," Kurt offers. "We've never really seen other people, and for the most part our big obstacles all stem from the same thing anyhow."  
  
"Does that ever cause problems in and of itself?" she asks.  
  
"You mean because the problem is always me?" Blaine says, trying not to sound snappy. "Sometimes. But the further away I've gotten from what happened, the more I've sorted out that the problem isn't me so much as it's what someone else did _to _me. We've stayed together through some really big issues. More than most couples face. I'd like to think it's made us stronger."  
  
"And anyhow," Kurt protests. "Not every problem in our relationship is about Brenner. We have plenty of our own fights, too."  
  
He looks at the social worker and shrugs.  
  
"Both our jobs can have fairly challenging hours. There are times of the year when we barely ever see each other. One of us is always at home but rarely at the same time. Sometimes we fight about that."  
  
"Kurt," Blaine looks at him in disbelief. "First of all, that wasn't even the question. Second, why are you making us sound like we're never home?"  
  
He looks at the lady, whose name he should really know by this point, his memory lapse doing nothing to help calm his nerves as he stresses,  
  
"We're very busy, but we're both prepared to make sacrifices so we can _both _be at home as often as possible, if that's what our new family needs."  
  
He's starting to get worried about how dysfunctional they sound right now, but the social worker hasn't so much as raised an eyebrow. Maybe his boss is right when he says that the interviewers are fairly used to mini-meltdowns mid-interview. Maybe no one looks as together as they'd like for this part. Maybe for once, Blaine and Kurt are actually a normal couple. It's a new concept for Blaine to wrap his head around.  
  
"It says here that one of your references is a musical therapist," the social worker comments. "She's also local. Are you willing to consider therapy for your new child if that's what he or she requires?"  
  
"Of course," Kurt says, happily dropping their former line of panicked conversation. " It's going to be hard enough for an older child to be adopted, so we want them to feel like they have a place where they'll be safe to talk about the things that are worrying them."  
  
"And if they don't want to go to therapy?"  
  
"Therapy is only useful if you're willing to put effort into it," Blaine says. "When I first came back home I completely sabotaged all my therapy sessions, but I'd still make our kids go to therapy if it seems like they need it. A lot of the progress I made only started happening once I started talking to Dr. Hong. Overall my wasting a lot of my parent's money for therapy sessions I refused to participate in didn't matter in comparison to how much they helped once I finally gave it a chance."  
  
He pauses briefly before adding,  
  
"It's okay with us if they don't want to go see Rachel Berry though. Don't tell her we said that."  
  
"Dr. Berry doesn't have a bad reputation in the field," the social worker comments. "We've referred several adoptees to her, some with more debilitating emotional issues. For the most part she's had success with them."  
  
"Rachel's fairly invested in us as a couple," Kurt says. "We've known her since our high school days, and we still get together with her quite regularly. If that's too weird for the child we adopt, or if music therapy isn't a good fit, we'll send our son or daughter elsewhere. We just haven't told _her _that yet."  
  
"She's a little intense," Blaine adds.  
  
The social worker nods in agreement.  
  
"We've spoken on the phone before," she says, almost hesitantly, like she knows she shouldn't be letting herself get this personal with the people she's vetting. "I've noticed she can come across a little...strongly."  
  
Blaine makes a mental note _not _to mention to Rachel about how they bonded with their interviewer by talking about how over-the-top she is. She's not winning Tonys like she always talked about, but that doesn't mean she's not a diva. Blaine has learned to handle a lot of unpleasantness over the years, but dealing with a flustered or incensed Rachel Berry still isn't something he's brave enough to face._  
  
***  
  
 **For Now**  
  
Blaine never asks his parents to send him to Dalton. He always has an excuse in his head about why he can't tell them what he wants. For a while he puts it off because they've had to go in to get the results of the tests they ran for STIs, including the one for HIV, and he doesn't want to upset anyone anymore than they already are. He's negative for almost everything, in the end, but it's still upsetting for everyone when he finds out that there are  _any_  long-term physical reminders of what he grew up with. Officially, he has an oral case of HSV-2, which the doctor tells him is very hard to get and doesn't have a cure, lucky him, but it's also weak, non-aggressive and almost completely impossible to infect any future partner with. He probably would never have even caught anything if he hadn't been as young as he was when he started having sex. None of this even begins to make Blaine feel any better.  
  
It takes him days to find the courage to tell Kurt, but eventually the guilt he feels just leaning over to give Kurt a quick peck on the cheek is so bad that he can't take it anymore and confesses everything in a single breath, sitting on his hands the entire time to try and stop them from trembling.  
  
"What does that mean exactly?" Kurt asks a little warily.  
  
"It stands for Herpes Simplex Virus," Blaine says, too mortified to elaborate.  
  
"Can they fix it?"  
  
Blaine shakes his head miserably.  
  
"I'm not..." he begins before his voice catches a little and he has to start again. "I'm not going to pass it on to you or anything. When you're asymptomatic you have a couple outbreaks right after you're infected and then it stops happening, and people are only able to get it from you when there are outbreaks. They wouldn't even have known I had it at all if they hadn't been testing for everything."  
  
"What are the outbreaks?" Kurt asks. "You said it was oral, so does that mean it's something inside your mouth?"  
  
He looks terrified to hear the answer.  
  
"I don't remember much about them," Blaine admits. "But your lips are really sore and infected. I think they blister. I remember a teacher felt bad for me the first time it happened and gave me some horrible-smelling perfume to put on it to dry it out."  
  
Kurt's worried expression vanishes and is replaced by one of recognition.  
  
"Oh," he says. "You mean  _coldsores_? That's not too bad, especially if you don't have outbreaks. A lot of people get those. Tina's been getting them for as long as she can remember."  
  
 _Tina probably didn't get them by sucking someone's dick_ , is the only thing Blaine can think, but he doesn't say it out loud. He doesn't want Kurt to make that connection right away if he hasn't already. Instead he just reminds him,  
  
"It's  _herpes_ , Kurt. It's disgusting."  
  
"It's terrible that you have it at all," Kurt says, pulling one of Blaine's hands out from under him so he can hold it between his own. "But it could be a lot worse. I'm just happy nothing else has shown up."  
  
Overall, Kurt takes it far better than his parents do. His mom has bloodshot eyes for days and his dad is more distant than ever. The last thing he needs to do right now is question their ability to send him to a good high school. He doesn't want to rock the boat.  
  
Some days it's not even Blaine's problems that keep him quiet about Dalton. Instead he avoids the issue, because his grandfather had to go back to the Philippines before he found a wife, and his parents joke around about how Dalton teaches everything except social skills. Blaine thinks that's shit, because when his grandfather decided to visit his Filipino relatives he found Lola Grace, who obviously had to have been the most amazing wife in the world, because she's amazing at everything that doesn't have to do with political correctness. But he still doesn't ask.  
  
When he can't use his grandfather's shortcomings to avoid his own problems, he resorts to the fact that Dalton is a boarding school, and his parents won't agree to him leaving again when he's just come back home. He pretends he doesn't know that not all of the students board there and he lives so close by he could almost walk there every day. Sometimes he pretends he won't ask because they've already spent so much money on him, buying him new furniture and new clothes, and now they're talking about getting him a car besides, once he's gotten his license. Dalton isn't a cheap place. Kurt can only just afford it and he's got scholarships to help him out. Blaine doesn't want to be any more of a burden than he has to be.  
  
"That's stupid," Quinn says, scowling at him on the couch with her arms crossed. " _You're_  stupid. Your parents obviously aren't hurting for money. They've got good jobs and they've kept this place in spite of all the money they sunk into trying to find you. Besides, you told me that all your grandparents set money aside specifically for their grandchildren's educations. If you're going to lie to yourself, at least pretend you aren't that dumb."  
  
"You can call me dumb all you want, but you're the one sitting there willingly letting a howler monkey do your hair," Blaine points out.  
  
"Hey," Cynthia yelps, loud and piercing and completely proving Blaine's point. "I don't look like a monkey. I'm telling mom!"  
  
"Shut up," Quinn says. "Keep practicing. The only way you'll learn to French braid hair is with lots of practice."  
  
Cynthia obeys instantly. She always does when Quinn is the one giving the orders. Quinn's developed a weird bond with Cynthia, and has ever since Blaine told her to stop bringing over drugs and alcohol so he doesn't OD or slash his wrists or anything. It's not so much because he wants to quit or has suddenly had an epiphany about how wrong he was to get high or whatever, but lately he's been placating his parents by actually  _talking_  about his feelings with his therapist. The result has been a barrage of different anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications that are coming along with strict orders that they are not to be mixed with anything not prescribed.  
  
"You're not just dealing with some very trying circumstances," Dr. Hong tells him. "You're also a teenager, dealing with the influx of hormones  _that_  brings with it. I don't want you getting hurt by combining the wrong mix of drugs in your system, so until we get this all sorted out and you know how you're going to react to each drug we try for you, no drugs or alcohol in your spare time, okay? I don't care about legality; I just want to make sure you're safe."   
  
Blaine goes along with it, because he's not a hypocrite and he wasn't kidding when he told his parents he wouldn't do anything if he didn't feel like he had to. It's not easy though. Doctors don't accept it when you tell them a drug regimen obviously isn't working two days after you've started, but for the time being at least he's trying to be patient and starts to read at three in the morning after nightmares, or calling Kurt if it's really bad, instead of smoking anything.   
  
Once their only shared interest is taken off the table, Blaine isn't anticipating seeing Quinn anymore, and while she doesn't come over in the night as often, she surprisingly doesn't disappear all together. Lately she's started to show up more and more in the daytimes and evenings, like she doesn't care about who sees her. She even talks to his parents. Sometimes. It's strange, but not as strange as what happens as soon as Cynthia becomes acclimated.  
  
Now that Cynthia doesn't find her as frightening and has stopped running the other direction when Quinn walks through the door, she's fascinated by the older girl, the infatuation growing in increments as she tries to make sense of her. A typical visit these days usually ends with Cynthia inching closer and closer into the room, cautiously asking questions about Quinn's hair and makeup, or if she's in love with Blaine, "because you can't have him. He likes boys. Mom told me." As soon as she's close enough to reach out and touch Quinn, Cynthia inevitably takes her lack of death as a green light and spends the rest of the time Quinn is there clinging to her side like a talking, obnoxious burr.  
  
For her part, Quinn never turns Cynthia away and is endlessly patient with her, but she never tries to engage her, either. She acts like Blaine's little sister is a random nobody in the hallways of McKinley. She sees no point in being mean to her, but she doesn't try to ingratiate herself either. The result, of course, is that Cynthia has become so obsessed with the aloof, angry girl with pink hair that she's reached the point where she's slowly trying to become her.  
  
"Quinn is my best friend now," she tells everyone who will listen. "When I grow up I'm going to be just like her and we're going to be roommates and she doesn't even come over to see Blaine any more, she just comes to see me and doesn't tell Blaine so he doesn't get sad and cry. I am going to be Quinn this year for Halloween."  
  
Blaine mentions this to Quinn, adding,  
  
"I won't tell Kurt she said that, because we both know you're going to hear about it if he finds out that small children think you look so ridiculous that you're an obvious choice for a Halloween costume."  
  
"Tell him whatever you want," Quinn snarks. "I don't care. He's probably had a whole army of kids dress up as him for Halloween anyhow. I dress more normally than he does."  
  
Blaine can't argue that, but for as defensive as she gets when he gives her a hard time about Cynthia's hero worship, she never tells her to get lost, either.  
  
"Kids like me," she shrugs. Her eyes are angry. Blaine knows she's thinking about Beth and lost opportunities. He doesn't call her on it.  
  
Blaine had assumed this not calling Quinn out on her issues was a mutual courtesy, and so long as he doesn't force her to address her painfully obvious daughter issues, he's safe to wallow in  _his_  issues without her forcing him to deal with any of them. This is apparently not the case, as Quinn must think that giving up pot and wine when she visits is all the courtesy Blaine deserves in their relationship. Which is why when his dad pops his head into the living room a few minutes after Cynthia's outburst to ask, "Is everything okay?" she betrays him in the worst way possible.  
  
"Blaine said I was - " Cynthia starts, but Quinn cuts her off.  
  
"No, he didn't," she says before she casually opens her purse to pull out a nail file as she says to his father almost conversationally, "Did you know your son wants to go to Dalton?"  
  
"Quinn!" Blaine snaps, feeling his face heat up a little.   
  
"Oh give it up, Blaine," Quinn snaps back. "It's not a big deal. So you want to wear a stupid uniform every day and be with the people who are guaranteed to like you. Believe me, I understand the appeal."  
  
"Blaine?" His dad is looking at him questioningly. "Is that true? You've said you don't care where you go every time we've asked."  
  
"I  _don't_  care," Blaine insists. "Just send me wherever you want. It's not a problem."  
  
"He's lying," Quinn says, not bothering to look up. "He wants to go to school with his boyfriend. It would be weird if he _didn't_  want to go to Dalton."  
  
"Blaine," Dad's voice is very level and measured, like he's trying hard not to sound frustrated. "We've already told you that you can be a part of picking which school you want to go to if you think it will make going back easier for you. Your mom and I thought you weren't interested in Dalton because so many people there knew your business."  
  
He's about to answer when Quinn pipes up again. Blaine wishes someone would shove a sock in her mouth.  
  
"If you want to send him somewhere no one knows about his business, you should look into high schools on the moon. Everyone knows what happened to him. Why not send him to a place where he already knows people won't hold it against him?"  
  
"Please stop talking," Blaine tries and he knows he sounds pathetic but he just needs all of this to go away. He feels a little dizzy.  
  
"Quinn?" his dad says, still subdued. "Could you do me a favour and take Cynthia to her room for a while? Blaine and I need to have a talk with his mom right now."  
  
Quinn shrugs and stands up so abruptly that Cynthia, who is still wreaking havoc on Quinn's hair, loses her balance and falls forward, face first into the couch.  
  
"Come on," Quinn orders, grabbing Cynthia's hand. To Blaine she just says, "You can thank me for this later when you're not being an irrational idiot."  
  
"I have terrible friends," Blaine says into his hands as he hears his dad calling to his mother to come and talk.  
  
"I'm not weak," is the first thing he says when his mom has sat down beside him. He looks straight at his father, who is sitting on the other side of the room. It feels like his dad always sits on the other side of the room now. "I'm not pathetic, and I've been through worse than people saying a few mean things about me. Please, just send me where you want. I'm not going to make you enroll me at Dalton."  
  
"Of course you're not weak," his dad says, still in that frustrated tone. "It's not in your nature to be weak, or just give up. That's why you're home right now instead of God-knows-where with that man. But Blaine, it's not weak to want to go to a school where you know you'll feel safe. Doing anything different would just be setting you up for failure, and you're  _not_  a failure."  
  
His dad has started talking to Blaine a lot like this over the past few weeks, ever since he came out to them. Suddenly the focus of every conversation Blaine feels brave enough to have with him turns into some sort of discussion about manliness: success through strength, NASCAR and engines, even football. Each time it feels like there's a hand squeezing Blaine's heart; each time it leaves Blaine thinking about all the ways he  _is_  a failure. He can't drive a car, let alone figure out how one works, and when he got away he did it by  _running_ , not by standing up to Tom and telling him enough was enough. He's the exact opposite of everything his dad desperately wants him to be, what his dad  _needs_  him to be now that he knows for sure Blaine is gay and is that much harder to relate to. He doesn't even understand football. Tom used to love football, and whenever a game was on he'd be glued to the TV for hours, like Blaine wasn't even there. Like he didn't exist. Blaine loved football season, but because he liked the break from being watched, not because he liked watching.  
  
His father and mother both spend several minutes mildly chastising him for not speaking up before now, but once he finally, grudgingly admits that it would be nice to go someplace where he  _knows_  the zero-bullying policy is properly enforced, it doesn't feel like the victory he wants it to. It feels like he's lost something, and he's terrified that what's been taken is even more of his manliness in the eyes of his father.  
  
***  
  
Dr. Hong thinks he needs to find a hobby. Blaine thinks Dr. Hong needs to stop telling him what to do and he lets her know this.  
  
"You sound hostile right now," she says. "Do you want to talk about why you think that might be?"  
  
"I'm hostile because nothing I do is good enough for you," Blaine says, angrily. "I try to make people happy by coming to your stupid sessions, even though all you do is make me talk so you can write notes and boss me around. You never actually  _do_  anything except tell me to stop smoking and drinking. So I do  _that_  and you just start sending me to all these different doctors who give me drugs that make me feel like  _shit_  but don't change anything. I'm tired and I can't sleep and I can't deal with people anymore because I don't have the energy, and people take  _a lot_  of fucking energy. But I still have to try to make new friends that I can trust because you're always harping at me that my boyfriend isn't enough of a support system. Now all you're doing is fixating on the fact that one of the friends I  _do_  have decided to get a haircut at a 'highly dysfunctional point in her life' or whatever the fuck your problem is with Quinn. Why is nothing good enough for you? Why is nothing good enough for  _anyone_?"  
  
"There's nothing wrong with being friends with Quinn," Dr. Hong says with maddening calm. "But Blaine, you still have to try to push past your comfort zone a little bit, and she isn't helping you do that."  
  
"I don't  _have_  a comfort zone," Blaine protests. "I've never had a comfort zone."  
  
"I think you do," says Dr. Hong. "You're at a very delicate point right now, Blaine. It's important that you don't let yourself become trapped in what feels safe."  
  
"Nothing feels safe," Blaine says. "And even if something did, how could that be wrong? I've never had that before, why wouldn't I want to stay there if I found it? Why don't I get to have that?"  
  
"You  _can_  have that," Dr. Hong insists. "But you can't let those few safe places become your whole world. You need to have different friends you can talk to besides your boyfriend. What will you do if you're having trouble dealing with something and Kurt isn't there to help you? You need other people to talk to, and other places to focus your energy so you don't get trapped in your own head."  
  
"So you're saying I need to get a hobby," Blaine says, sourly.  
  
"That's what I'm saying," Dr. Hong confirms. "You've been at your new school for a couple weeks now. I'm sure they have a lot of clubs and groups you could join. Is there anything there that interests you?"  
  
Blaine looks at her coolly.  
  
"I think I'm done talking for the day," he says, as calmly as he can.  
  
"That's fine," Dr. Hong is undisturbed as usual. "We can just sit here until time runs out. But think about what I've said today."  
  
Blaine doesn't respond and just stares stubbornly at the front of her desk. A very small, very distant part of him feels guilty for acting so childish over something as unimportant as a simple suggestion, but he can't help it. Now that he's actually started talking to her, he finds that he likes Dr. Hong quite a lot, and she almost never tells him anything that doesn't end up making him feel better in the long run; but lately it feels like he can't talk to anyone without getting angry. Having Quinn around is a bit of a relief because when she's there, they can fight like wounded animals and it doesn't change anything in their relationship. They snarl and snap and say things so appalling to each other that his parents have taken to running for cover when they get started, usually dragging Cynthia along with them so she can't learn new words and inappropriate ideas. Apparently it's not good to teach a 6-year-old to deal with confrontation by saying things like,  
  
"You're a crazy bitch and if Shelby was a smart mother she'd grab Beth and run as far away from you as possible. What are you going to do, Quinn? Smuggle your daughter out of Lima in a dog crate?"  
  
Quinn will usually respond with something in keeping with the theme that he can only get it up for guys over 40, and not to take his performance issues with Kurt out on her. His parents might be horrified when she leaves after a bad day, but Blaine  _loves_  it. It's not that what she says doesn't hurt, because it definitely does, but he gets to hurt  _back_  and that makes it worth it for both of them. The only other person he can let himself go so completely with is Dr. Hong, now that he fully trusts the confidentiality of their sessions, and it's not as satisfying with her, since she always makes a point to tell him,  
  
"It's good that you feel angry. It's natural to be mad about what happened. But you need to start trying to focus your anger on the right target, for the right reasons."  
  
Because Dr. Hong thinks he has issues with facing what happened to him, too. Which isn't true, because Blaine isn't stupid. He knows what happened to him and who is responsible for it. He knows that he spent years with a man who assaulted and beat and hurt him and made feel like dirt and like he'd never be good enough for anyone. Tom didn't even care about his well-being enough to stop him from getting raped. Hell, he practically pimped Blaine out to the guy, who _still_  hasn't been found, since apparently he never actually owned the house they were staying at in the first place. It figures that the man Blaine still has nightmares about so bad that they make him afraid to sleep in the dark is someone who Blaine never even would have known existed if Tom hadn't been such an idiot. So yeah, Blaine knows who he needs to be mad at, and why. But he has a lot of anger that's he's been keeping down for a very long time, and now that it's started to come out, it's almost impossible to direct. Blaine would rather just let it come out as quickly as possible so he never has to deal with it again, and not worry about Quinn getting hit with it instead of some asshole sitting in a jail cell who would probably just think it was funny if he  _did_  know Blaine has finally gotten around to getting a little pissed off.  
  
The problem comes when he can't hold it back anymore and ends up taking it out on people who aren't Dr. Hong or Quinn. He's been at Dalton for two weeks and has already been sent to the school counsellor once for shouting at his math teacher, which just makes him angrier. He knows about the zero-tolerance policy at Dalton. If he had been anyone else he would have gotten suspended at least, but Blaine gets sent to the school counsellor, who looks at a note from Dr. Hong and then at Blaine with a pitying expression before asking if he'd "like to talk about it."  
  
He hates that his past follows him even to a place like Dalton, where guys who used to be his friends back when he was introduced to them by Kurt now look at him with big eyes and nervous smiles. Nick doesn't even look him straight in the eye as he leads Blaine to each junior class the Academy decided he would have to repeat to make up for the end of the previous year. It's not that Nick isn't trying or is acting hostile or grossed out, but after three false starts where he tries to mention some song they're working on in the Warblers, only to trail off whenever Blaine turns to look at him, Blaine is ready to punch him in the face. The only reason he doesn't is because he can imagine Kurt's heartbroken expression that will be there if he ever loses his cool and forces Dalton to kick him out. He doesn't care about what his family will say; he doesn't care if Wes and David think he's changed. The only thing that matters to him is keeping Kurt happy. Kurt is the only person who Blaine never feels mad at, and no hobby or club can change that.  
  
***  
  
He decides to make everyone happy by trying out for the Warblers. He can tell Dr. Hong that he's a joiner, his parents will be happy he's making an effort, Nick will stop awkwardly trying to ask before losing his nerve, and he'll get to spend more time with Kurt if they let him in. It's not like he's tone deaf, so he won't embarrass himself too badly, even if he doesn't make it. Kurt and Mercedes drag him out of his house the weekend before his audition to get a haircut. Blaine doesn't understand why this is a necessary part of the process.  
  
"Honey," Mercedes says, so fondly Blaine almost can ignore the slight twinge of irritation that sparks through him at the pet name. "You put your uniform on with that mop and it looks like your head is glued to someone else's body. I've seen Warblers in action before and they clean up pretty nice. You don't want to be the odd man out."  
  
"I don't even know if they'll say yes yet," Blaine says before looking at Kurt to add accusingly. "I thought you made fun of my hair because you  _liked_  it."  
  
"I do," Kurt promises, reaching over to pull Blaine's head to his shoulder and gently tug his fingers through it, as if to prove the sincerity of his words, which would be more convincing if it weren't the first time Kurt has ever touched his scalp intentionally. "In theory. I'm not going to let them cut it all off, but you kind of look like an abandoned poodle right now. Just have a little faith and everything will turn out perfect, you'll see. And don't pretend the Warblers won't love you. I've heard you singing more than once over the summer, and your voice is perfect for them."  
  
The hand feels so damn good in his hair that Blaine concedes the fight and tries not to remind himself that at least one of those times Kurt heard him was late one night when Stevie snuck out of his bed to call Blaine in tears because he thought there was someone watching him from the corner of his room. Blaine still isn't sure why Stevie was refusing to talk to anyone  _in_  the house about why he was scared, but Kurt texted Sam to let him know what was happening while Blaine sang quietly into the phone and waited with him for Sam to go check out the room and report back to the kitchen where Stevie was apparently hiding under a table.   
  
According to Sam that was a step up from earlier in the summer when Stevie kept falling down the stairs as he tried to literally run away in his sleep. Blaine hears the stories and almost feels guilty for not having as much trouble readjusting as Stevie, but he figures that maybe having that much more time to get used to life with Tom is finally paying off for him in some way. Maybe now he just doesn't care about what happens anymore.  
  
At any rate, Kurt and Mercedes aren't wrong about the hair or the audition. Blaine's head feels naked, but Kurt assures him it's gorgeous and since he suddenly can't keep his hands out of Blaine's hair to save his life Blaine is willing to take his word for it while simultaneously wondering why the hell he didn't get it done sooner if it was going to make his boyfriend so handsy. He suggests skipping the audition all together so they can make some real progress in their relationship - by which he of course means second base. Kurt just rolls his eyes at the suggestion and tells him to get his mind out of the gutter. Blaine tries to think it's funny.  
  
It would be a lie to say he takes the audition all that seriously. David calls him the night before over Skype to give him a pep talk when he hears what's happening. Blaine doesn't understand why anyone would still care if they've already left the school, but doesn't say it out loud. David says that song selection is key, and that some would-be Warblers agonize about what they'll sing the entire summer.  
  
"What have you decided on?" He asks. Blaine feels a little guilty when he admits,  
  
"I haven't really thought about it yet."  
  
His guilt abates substantially when David is still suffering a minor psychotic break over this information five whole minutes later. Eventually he has to cut the call short by saying he has to go because "if I keep talking it's going to cut into my research time." Then he goes downstairs and watches Disney with Cynthia. He knows David doesn't know what he's doing, but he still feels pathetically like he's somehow fighting the man by passive-aggressively watching  _The Lion King_. Which is why he doesn't know which song he's going to sing when he walks into the auditions the next afternoon. Which is why he says the first thing that comes to mind when Thad looks at him like he's a small child who is absolutely adorable, but is also about to disarm a nuclear bomb to save mankind when he asks what Blaine will be "choosing to represent his potential talents and benefits to the Warblers as a whole."  
  
"I guess...um...' Can't Wait to be King'? That's the name of the lion song, right?"  
  
Wes just raises a puzzled eyebrow while Thad squints at him in suspicion before quietly saying, "Interesting" and writing something down in his notebook. Even Kurt is looking at him strangely. Blaine doesn't understand why it's such a big deal, since most of the songs the Warblers sing fall straight into the "meaningless and catchy" category, which pretty much is the only kind of music Disney does - Blaine would know, because he's seen a lot of Disney since he started living with Cynthia.   
  
He briefly wonders if maybe he would have tried a little harder if he thought there was even a small chance he'd make the cut, but as it is, he decides it can't hurt to mock the people who are sitting around the choir room judging him, just a little, or, okay, a lot. He mostly keeps it to exaggerating their vaguely manic enthusiasm as he moves around the room while he sings, running his hands through his new haircut in put upon distress when he gets to the part about being the mane event for his future in a wildly improbable African wildlife reserve monarchy.   
  
At first he even tries to imitate the Warbler's carefully executed step-shuffle-turn choreography, but it's surprisingly hard to improvise and keep track of where he is in the song without making a mistake so he finally gives up in favour of hopping onto the nearest table, hoping that the move distracts them from the fact that he has no idea what the hell he's doing. It's surprisingly way more fun than it should be - being able to act like he's not the kid with the Problems, like he enjoys all the attention. Like he's not angry and trapped and worthless when the music stops.   
  
The applause when he's finished is as deafening as a room full of teenage boys wearing unhealthy amounts of starch can make it, and Blaine is a little shocked. He wasn't expecting them to  _like_  what he did, but either they don't know he's laughing at them, or they know and they don't care, or they've decided that his performance is actually what they're trying to achieve in their numbers in the first place. One thing is certain: no one is looking at Blaine like they don't know how to deal with him anymore. Thad is so excited that he actually leaps out of his chair and hugs him. Blaine thinks he might be crying a little. This might be the only place in the world where he'll ever be able to act like an idiot and still have a shot at being anyone's hero.  
  
They deliberate for all of two minutes before they announce that he's in and then almost before they've finished hitting the last note of the apparently traditional welcoming rendition of "For He's A Jolly Good Fellow," Trent is piping up,  
  
"Let's see if he can sing 'Why Do Fools Fall In Love' next! Maybe we can finally get out the 1950s wheelhouse again!"  
  
Jeff hops a little in excitement at this.  
  
"We haven't used that since the 1950s!"  
  
Everyone is so pleased no one remembers to give either of them a reprimand for speaking out of turn. Kurt looks so happy for him he's practically glowing, even after Blaine leans over to whisper, "I don't understand why they're acting like this,  _you're_  the best singer here," genuinely perplexed.  
  
"I know," Kurt says, easily. "That's why I started getting solos before most new additions, but that doesn't mean I fit their performance style. You, on the other hand? I hate to break it to you, Blaine, but I think your plan to piss them off backfired. They're about two minutes away from building you an altar."  
  
Blaine wants to say more and especially compliment Kurt for figuring it out, but before he gets the chance, Wes is grabbing his arm and leading him back to the centre of the room, asking how he would feel about singing for senior citizens while Jeff grabs hold of his other shoulder and asks if he thinks standing on things should become one of their signature performance moves. All the awkwardness and irritation that has been building between him and his classmates since the beginning of September seems to be dropping away in this room. He doesn't even need to pretend to be someone else right now because it's like everyone's forgotten who he is outside of show choir, or they just don't care anymore. Apparently Dr. Hong wasn't wrong about this one and at the moment Blaine feels so good that he almost doesn't mind the thought of having to admit it to her.

***

"Dude," Finn says. "I don't get you."  
  
"Thanks Finn," Blaine says dryly, not even bothering to look up from the sheet music Kurt is trying to explain to him. He's been with the Warblers for a little under a month now and he still can't get the hang of sheet music. He knows he could ask his mother for help, because she plays the piano like she needs it to survive and his dad has said she plays like she could have been a concert pianist, but Blaine's noticed she gets quiet and sad when he doesn't understand what she's telling him.  
  
"You used to do so well at this," she says sometimes as she tries to act like it doesn't bother her. Eventually it gets easier to go to ask Kurt in his dorm room, or visit him in Lima on the weekends when they have time to fight their way through it. Or at least, they  _might_  have the time to fight through it under normal circumstances. When they aren't getting harassed by over-sized stepsiblings.  
  
"No, don't get mad," Finn says, inviting himself into the room and making himself comfortable in the desk chair, completely missing the death glare being levelled on him by Kurt. "It's not a bad thing; it's just a weird thing. Rachel's always telling me music shows you your soul. She says that's why she has to sing all the Barbra solos in glee - because deep down inside she's a star and everyone knows it, so it's the only way for New Directions to keep their integrity as artists."  
  
"Do you have a point, Finn?" Kurt asks in a tired voice, like he knows the only way they'll have any peace is if they let Finn speak his mind.  
  
"Yeah," Finn says, nodding a little as he stares intently at Blaine. "I saw you at that party, man. You were  _messed up_. You should be singing, like, Simple Plan and that song about the dead girlfriend in the car. Why are you singing Pink and Katy Perry?"  
  
He must know on some level that he's just asked a really stupid question because he quickly holds up his hands in self-defense before anyone else can speak.  
  
"I'm not saying you can't sing girl songs if you want to," he says, completely missing the problem as usual. "But shouldn't you try  _sad_  girl songs like Adele or something?"  
  
"Finn, there is no reason why Blaine shouldn't be singing Katy Perry," Kurt says. Blaine tries to pretend he can't hear his boyfriend's voice falter when he continues. "Maybe he's happier now than he was at Anthony's party, did you think of that? A lot has changed since then."  
  
There's an uncomfortable silence in the room that Blaine knows he's the cause of, thanks to his newfound mood swings and angry outbursts. He tries to break it by saying,  
  
"Sorry, Finn. I guess I don't really pay attention to what I'm singing. I just do it."  
  
Finn nods, carefully.  
  
"That probably makes sense," he says. "Don't tell Rachel, but sometimes I'm not thinking about what we're saying to each other through song when we duet as much as I'm thinking about lunchtime and all the things I could be eating."  
  
"Nice, Finn," Kurt says, looking at him in disbelief.  
  
Either Finn doesn't notice the disdain or he just has a lot of practice ignoring it, because he only smiles at Blaine and asks,  
  
"So how do you like the Warblers?"  
  
Blaine shrugs.  
  
"It's not bad," he says. "I'm really only doing it because everyone wants me to try new things."  
  
"Well they sure seem to like you," Finn says. "Kurt's always bragging that they give you the lead in almost everything. You have to admit that's pretty cool."  
  
"Finn would know," Kurt says. "He used to get the lead all the time until the day the girls all snapped and broke into Mr. Schue's apartment to burn his entire Hit's of the 80s collections."  
  
"I still don't believe that ever happened," Finn frowns. "Or that Mr. Schuester ever owned collections like that in the first place."  
  
He starts smiling again not half a second later, as distractible as Nick is when he hasn't seen Jeff for an entire day.  
  
"I  _did_  like it when we sang all the Journey, though," he says. "Before Mom figured out that I got every solo she took me out for, like, five celebration ice creams to show how proud she was. You should try to get free ice cream, Blaine."  
  
"I think my parents would be happier to celebrate the Warblers picking a song that's not supposed to be sung by a woman," Blaine comments. "You're not the only one who thinks it's weird."  
  
"It's not weird," Kurt protests, not for the first time. "It's choosing to not conform to gender stereotypes."  
  
"Which my dad thinks is weird and unhealthy," Blaine says. "Going by how much football he's suddenly desperate to make me watch."  
  
"It's not weird though," Finn says, piping up like he's only just realized it himself, which is probably true.   
  
"Rory, this new kid in the glee club is from Ireland," Finn explains. "And most of the time he's too hard to understand, but one day Rachel got upset about Quinn singing this really depressing song about loving a girl and being thrown in a tower, he said that a lot of songs in his country sound  _better_  when you ignore who's  _supposed_  to be singing them. And not just those really girly love songs by that James Blunt guy, either. Ireland has  _tons_  of really old songs about chicks missing dead guys that get sung by dudes all the time."  
  
Finn is beaming as he imparts his knowledge of tolerance and Irish tenors, and Blaine has to fight back the urge to pat him on the head, because sometimes Finn is so earnest it's almost adorable. Out loud he just says,  
  
"My dad probably wouldn't care if some guy in Ireland was wandering around singing Katy Perry, but I don't think he likes it when  _I_  do. It's another thing about me he doesn't understand."  
  
"Maybe he won't mind if he gets to know you a little better," Finn offers. "When Mom and Burt started dating, I thought Burt didn't like me much either, especially after he caught me yelling at Kurt that one time, but in the end the biggest problem was that we weren't used to each other. I know your dad is your dad and Burt is only my stepdad, but maybe it's kind of the same thing? I mean, Kurt is always having to remind me, but you kind of grew up without a dad, right? Maybe you're like I was and you don't know what having one is like yet?"  
  
Something about Finn's oversimplified world view makes a frightening amount of sense to Blaine and he hears himself ask,  
  
"How did you get used to each other?"  
  
Finn shrugs.  
  
"We started doing things together. We found stuff that we both liked, like sports, and started going to games and things like that. The more you're around someone the easier it is to understand them."  
  
***  
  
Deep down he knows it's probably a bad idea to take Finn's advice about anything, but what he says gets Blaine thinking that maybe he could be doing something more; trying harder. So when his dad mentions a friend looking to sell an old beater of a car that needs engine work, Blaine agrees almost immediately when he's asked if he'd be interested in helping to get it running again. It's not like he won't need the car - Kurt's already taken him to the DMV to get his learner's - and this way he knows his parents won't be spending too much to make it happen. What he doesn't count on is being absolutely shit at understanding car engines.  
  
Kurt has already spent some time with him explaining the basics of car maintenance using his Navigator as an example, walking both him and Finn through how to fix small problems without breaking anything. This is mostly done for the benefit of Finn after he tries to drive to school one day even though he knows the car has a flat - "If I even catch you _thinking_  about doing something like that to my baby again, I will end you, Finn Hudson." - but Kurt also knows how badly Blaine wants to make his dad happy, so he makes sure Blaine is always there for the lessons, too:  
  
"This is where you check the oil levels. This is where you add more oil. This is where the windshield fluid goes. These things are not interchangeable - Finn? Are you paying attention?"  
  
Kurt has to repeat himself so many times for Finn that Blaine is certain he has nothing to worry about the first Saturday his father calls him into the garage to look under the hood of the dilapidated old Honda. But apparently basic upkeep and a complete overhaul are two very different things.  
  
"It's okay," his dad keeps saying when Blaine can't keep the different wrenches straight, or when he's not strong enough to loosen a nut, or when he snaps off some tube or hose and doesn't know how to fix it. "You can't learn these things overnight, Blaine. You'll do better next time."  
  
But Blaine doesn't get any better. It doesn't help that the more time he spends in close proximity to his dad the more obvious it becomes that his dad hates being in close proximity with him.  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," his father mutters, almost jumping back if their hands so much as come close to each other. Blaine can tell he tries to hide it, but the discomfort is too intense to mask. Blaine sees how Cynthia runs up to their dad and he picks her up so easily it's like he doesn't even think about it first. He never looks like he has to struggle to force himself to get within three feet of Cynthia, but his dad isn't a demonstrative person, not with Blaine. When Blaine gets something right he just tells him "Good job." If Blaine gets frustrated and walks away, he never reaches out to stop him. There are days when the differences are so obvious Blaine wishes there was a button he could press that would take his dad out of his life along with all the shadowy memories he has of him, like he was never there at all. Like that would make it hurt a little less and stop him from feeling so angry at the man.   
  
But sometimes at night when he's headed to his room to do homework, he can hear his father's voice reading stories to Cynthia and Blaine can feel the ache deep down inside of his bones. He sees Cynthia run to him when she's scared or hurt or even just telling on him, and all he can think is that he's the perfect father, the one Blaine always wanted, and now that he's home again he still can't have him. Tom is always there standing between them and nothing either of them can do to make him go away.  
  
He doesn't know why his sister gets everything their dad has to offer and all he has are Saturday mornings fighting with spark plugs and listening to his dad's half-hearted comments about how car repair is Men's Work and good for both of them. Blaine wonders what he would think if he ever saw how good Kurt was at working on engines, if he'd be surprised and uncomfortable or if he'd just wish he could make a trade. Each day he can feel the weight of his father's disappointment grow heavier, as it becomes more and more obvious that Blaine will never get any better at what they're doing. Blaine never feels as lonely as he does when he's alone in a room with his dad.  
  
He doesn't tell Kurt about it when he asks, because Kurt's smile gets so bright and happy on Fridays when Blaine talks about how he has to spend at least a small part of the weekend working on the car. Kurt's so invested in Blaine's relationship with his father, if he was anyone else it would drive Blaine crazy. Blaine's dad is always friendly and polite to Kurt and for Kurt that's evidence enough that his boyfriend's father is so open-minded he's practically made of rainbows. He never seems to think that Blaine's dad is only okay with Kurt's flamboyancy because his last name isn't Anderson. Now that Blaine has a real father again, Kurt obviously thinks the relationship is a lot closer to the one he has with Burt than is really the case.  
  
"I got really threatened when Dad and Finn went to all the baseball games together," he says. "But eventually I got used to it. My dad wasn't mad at me because I didn't get it, and he didn't think Finn was better at being a guy. He just thought Finn was more fun to take to baseball games, and he wasn't wrong. It's not about being manly, it's about being yourself. Your dad doesn't think less of you for hating football."  
  
Kurt takes Blaine's failure to talk about anything going badly while he's fixing the car as a sign that he was right, and that all Blaine needed to do was find common ground. Blaine doesn't have the heart to tell him that things haven't changed at all. So he just smiles back at Kurt and imagines different ways to avoid the house on the weekends. His dad is determined to make it work though, and won't stop bringing it up, even though Blaine sees the pained expression on his face every time they walk into the garage. It makes Blaine so frustrated that some days he finds himself trying to say as many mean and petty things as he can think of in a desperate attempt to keep his dad from asking if he's interested later, because the thought of doing this with his father is awful, but it's not as bad as having to flat out tell him he hates the time they spend together. He can handle his father rejecting him if that's what it comes to, but being the one who makes that decision is another thing entirely.  
  
***  
  
"Mr. Hummel?"  
  
Burt looks up from the engine he's working on and Blaine wonders yet again why he always acts on his impulses before he really lets himself think things through. This is a terrible idea.  
  
"Blaine?" he says, a little uncertainly as he straightens and looks around. "What's going on? Is Kurt here?"  
  
"No," Blaine says, gesturing vaguely behind him. "I'm running errands with my mom. We had to drive down here to pick up this one apparently really specific pattern for a ballet costume for Cynthia that none of the stores in Westerville have anymore? I don't really understand what's going on, but I was losing my mind waiting in the fabric store so..."  
  
He trails off a little and shrugs, awkwardly. He doesn't know why he's doing this.  
  
"Can I help you with something?" Burt prompts, turning back to the car in front of him when Blaine doesn't say anything else. "Kurt tells me you're working with your dad on fixing up a car. Are you two looking for parts?"  
  
"How hard was it to teach Kurt about all of this?" Blaine blurts out almost before he registers what Burt's just said.  
  
"Teach him what exactly?" Burt asks.  
  
"Cars," Blaine says, haltingly. "He knows a lot about cars. Sometimes the guys at school get him to fix theirs right in the parking lot if they have a problem."  
  
"I didn't know that," Burt says. He looks like he might be proud and Blaine feels the now-familiar ache inside when he sees it. "But Kurt's been into cars for a long time. I was showing him how they worked even before his mother died."  
  
"Could you teach me?" Blaine asks, suddenly not caring if he sounds desperate.  
  
"I thought your dad was teaching you?" Burt says, frowning a little.  
  
"I don't think he cares who I learn it from," Blaine says. "I think he'll just feel better if I know it."  
  
"From what I've heard your dad works really hard to spend time with you," Burt says. He still looks guarded, like Blaine walking in off the street to ask him for tips on engine repair is the craziest thing that's happened to him for months. Maybe it is.   
  
"My dad works hard to spend time with me because he knows I'm nothing like him," Blaine says. "Not enough of a man, I mean."  
  
Burt gets up again and walks towards him, wiping his hands with a rag.  
  
"What do you mean you're not enough of a man?" he asks.  
  
"Do you think my dad's doing this with me because he loves cars?" Blaine asks. "I think he's doing it because I don't watch football with him, and because he hasn't touched me without flinching since he found out I was dating a guy."  
  
"You think your dad's homophobic," Burt says.   
  
"I think my dad's disappointed he looked for such a long time and I'm all he got," Blaine says.  
  
Burt's quiet a moment, grabbing a wrench before heading back to the car as he asks,  
  
"Does he talk to you about any of this kind of stuff...about you and Kurt, I mean?"  
  
"No," Blaine says, snorting a little at the idea of his dad talking to him about  _anything_  that doesn't have to do with homework, or what they're having for dinner, or car parts. "He doesn't even say Kurt's name if he's not there. I don't have the kind of relationship with my dad that Kurt has with you. I don't think I ever will, and that's okay, I guess, but I just...I want there to be  _something_ , you know? I don't know how else to get it."  
  
Blaine's phone chimes from inside his pocket. When he looks at it there's a message waiting for him from his mother.  
  
"I have to go," he says. "But please say you'll think about it?"  
  
Burt nods, slowly, like he's lost in thought. Blaine is almost out the door before he hears his name called out across the garage. When he turns back around Burt is craning his head out from behind the hood of the car, making sure Blaine's paying attention.  
  
"Get your dad to give me a call," he says. "I can get you guys a deal on parts if you need them and maybe I'll see if it sounds like the two of you need an extra set of eyes to help work on that car of yours, okay?"  
  
"Thanks, Mr. Hummel," Blaine says in response. He takes a couple deep breaths before he steps outside, and tries to keep his face as neutral as possible when he joins his mother at the car.  
  
***  
  
At first it seems like nothing will come of it. Blaine passes the information about the car parts to his dad almost right away, but his dad doesn't call.   
  
"I'm sure I'll have to call some people up for more parts eventually," he says. "But until we get there, I thought we could just handle things on our own. What's the matter? Don't you trust me?"  
  
Blaine's pretty sure he's just trying to make a joke, but he rolls his eyes and storms out of the study anyhow. He's not sure how much longer he's going to be able to keep trying to make this work. He's barely trying now, and his dad has taken to talking about what they'll do after the car is running, which only makes him want to try less.  
  
"I've always loved classic Chevys," he says one day. "What would you think about that, once the Honda's been around a while and you've gotten really comfortable with driving? Driving up to school in a classic muscle car would definitely beat pulling up in this thing. Of course, you'd only be allowed to do that on the days  _I'm_  not driving it. Which would be almost all of them."  
  
It's fun listening to his dad get so excited about something, but at the same time it hurts a little, too. His dad started doing this because he wanted to fix Blaine, he's sure of that, but now that they're in the middle of the work, Blaine can tell his father genuinely enjoys the hours they spend putting the car together. If Dad lets Blaine give up, if he admits that Blaine's no good at what they're doing and finishes the work on his own, they won't have anything. Even though Blaine keeps pushing for that final break to happen, he doesn't  _want_  it to come to that. He wishes it could be different.  
  
Weeks pass and Dad still hasn't called Burt. For his part, Burt hasn't even so much as mentioned the conversation whenever Blaine is over spending time with Kurt, but late one Sunday evening just as Blaine is trying to finish the rest of his homework before class the next day, there's a knock on his bedroom door and he looks up to see his dad standing there, with red-rimmed eyes, looking a little bit like someone's punched him.  
  
"What's wrong?" he asks.  
  
"A lot of things," his dad says. "Can I come in? I need to talk to you about something."  
  
"Okay," Blaine says, warily as he tries to gauge the situation. "Did I do something? Am I in trouble?"  
  
His dad shakes his head a little as he sits down on the edge of the bed, looking like he wishes he could be anywhere else in the world right now.  
  
"You're not in trouble," he says. "I feel a little bit like I am, but that's my problem."  
  
He's quiet for a minute before saying,  
  
"I just got off the phone with Burt Hummel. He's been waiting for that call about car parts and was pretty annoyed that it hadn't come yet."  
  
"I'm sorry," Blaine says. "I should have told him you weren't that interested."  
  
Blaine is a little surprised that he's not feeling like yelling at his dad and storming out of the room, which is how they usually talk about cars these days, but something about his father's almost forlorn expression keeps him rooted to his seat and his anger in check.  
  
"It's not your fault," his dad says. "I was just being stubborn. Look, I know you really look up to Burt Hummel and I respect that. He seems like a nice guy, but I had wanted the car to be something we did together. Just the two of us. If I'm being honest with you, asking Burt for help on the car felt too much like I was letting you down by not being as good at this as he is. I hear Kurt talk about his father and sometimes it feels like he's some sort of superhero. I didn't really want to bring someone in on this that had the ability to make me look so bad."  
  
"You're not a bad father," Blaine says, still uncertain about where this is all going.  
  
"But I'm not a very good one to you," is his dad's quiet answer. "I don't know how I'm supposed to deal with you at all. And now I just got a relatively angry phone call from your boyfriend's dad, demanding to know why I haven't called about the car so he can tell me how to raise you without looking like he's meddling."  
  
"He said that to you?" Blaine asks, a little panicky.  
  
"He said if I didn't sit down with you and actually explain why I act the way I sometimes do around you, he'd drive down and force me to do it himself. He said he there was no good reason for you to be so insecure in our relationship that you'd feel the need to beg him to teach you about cars because you didn't want to disappoint me," his dad says. "Blaine, you are the furthest thing from a disappointment to me. I don't even know why you would think that."  
  
"Because I'd be disappointed if I was you," Blaine says. "I can't do anything, I don't know anything, and every time I screw up something on the car or don't understand a play in the football game or try to do  _anything_  with you, all I do is remind you that the son you always wanted never came back."  
  
"Of course you haven't turned out the way I wanted you to," Dad says, and Blaine almost feels better, because this is what he's been expecting to hear for months now. Except his dad doesn't stop talking after he says it. "You were taken away from us and your life was..."  
  
He trails off a little and shakes his head before continuing.  
  
"I can't begin to imagine what your life was like with that man. I've always thought people are the result of their experiences, and the way they've been brought up... You were raised in an evil place and every day it kills me that I couldn't protect you from that, but at the same time, it makes me  _so_  proud of you."  
  
"What do you mean?" Blaine asks.  
  
"What happened to you changed who you were, and it made you into someone I never could have helped create," his dad says. "And that person is incredible. I don't know if you're ever going to fully understand just how impossible you are to me. I never thought a kid who lived the way you did would be able to turn out to be so selfless, or brave, or smart. You're the strongest person I've ever known, Blaine."  
  
Blaine blinks back tears as he feels anger rising up inside of him. Still his voice is fairly controlled when he says,  
  
"If you want me to believe that you're proud of who I am maybe you should work harder at selling the performance."   
  
At his father's nonplussed expression, he adds,   
  
"I'm not blind, Dad. I know you don't want me the way that I am. I watch you with Cynthia and it's like - I sort of remember what it was like to be where she is, to remember you as this perfect, affectionate person, who never pulled back if I got too close, and who didn't treat me like an obligation. I could trick myself into believing that I was just making it up and this is the way you really are if she wasn't here, too. But I  _see_  it, Dad. We're different to you."  
  
His dad is quite for a long moment. He looks so old sitting on the bed as he stares at Blaine. Finally he says,  
  
"You  _are_  different to me than Cynthia. I didn't know it bothered you so much and I'm sorry about that, Blaine. But it's not anything  _you've_  done that makes me treat you differently from her. It's what  _I've_  done. It's what I  _haven't_  done."  
  
"I still don't know what you're talking about," Blaine says.  
  
"I let you down."  
  
It feels like the room is spinning when he sees the way his father's eyes cloud up when he says it.  
  
"I know that you hardly remember anymore and Diane keeps telling me not to drag you into my own issues, but that day in the mall you were  _my_  responsibility and I wasn't paying enough attention. I never saw Brenner at all; I never even knew you'd wandered off to talk to anyone until they sorted out what happened with the security footage and eye witness accounts."  
  
"How is that letting me down?" Blaine asks. "It's not like you can watch kids every minute. It's not like you just handed me over."  
  
He carefully avoids mentioning the fact that only up until a little under a year ago, he'd thought that very thing. Maybe one day he'll say thanks for proving him wrong, but he doesn't think it will go over well right now.  
  
"If I'd seen him talking to you, I could have confronted him. Maybe he wouldn't have tried to take you if he knew I'd seen his face, or maybe you would have figured out that it wasn't okay to walk away with him like you did. I'm not sure, but it could have changed everything."  
  
"Or not," Blaine says. "He might have taken  _me_  really easily, but Stevie fought back every step of the way, and he took him out of a park in broad daylight. And when he took me it was in a mall full of people watching. He wouldn't have cared one way or the other. He just wanted what he wanted. He's always known how to get what he wants."  
  
"You know him better than you know me," his dad comments. "I don't know how to deal with that. I'm the one who's supposed to be your father, but it's like you're a stranger living in my house. I don't know you, Blaine."  
  
"I don't know me, either," Blaine mutters, still a little frustrated. "Sorry if I don't start crying myself to sleep at night over how hard this has been for you. If this is so awkward for you maybe I can stay at Dalton full time or something."  
  
"Not a chance," his dad says, going from vulnerable to controlled so quickly that Blaine can hardly register it's even happened. Kurt and Dr. Hong always bother him about how quickly he locks away his emotions when he doesn't want to deal with them anymore. They both think it's a coping mechanism, and maybe it  _is_ , but this is the first time it's occurred to Blaine that maybe he comes by it honestly.  
  
"Blaine you've got to get past this idea that I don't want you," his dad is saying. "I'm doing everything I know to try to make you feel like you belong. That's what the car is about. I want you to feel like you have a place here."  
  
"Are you sure the car isn't just about hoping if I get my hands dirty I'll magically start acting straight?" Blaine fires back.  
  
"Of course not," his dad almost sounds angry that Blaine has even suggested something like that. "I'm okay with the fact that you're gay."  
  
"Then why do you only try to bond with me by trying to turn me into some stereotype of heterosexuality with the car and the sports and the disapproving looks when you hear anything about the glee club?" Blaine demands. "If you're okay with who I am, why do you act like you can't even stand to be in the same room with me, let alone  _touch_  me?"  
  
"That's really what you think?" His dad deflates a little, like Blaine's physically struck him. "I'm teaching you about cars and football because  _my_  father never bothered to teach me. He was a good enough father, but a distracted one. I always swore I'd be a bigger part of your lives. I thought I'd lost that chance after you were gone, and I didn't want to waste the opportunity now that you were home again, even though I don't know what sorts of things we'll like doing together. I wanted us to find out together. And I'm so glad you're in that glee club and finally finding a place where you're happy. You deserve to have a chance to be happy."  
  
Blaine isn't sure he believes him and his doubt must show on his face because Dad looks him straight in the eye and says, "I want you to be happy, Blaine, and I worry that you're not happy here. Sometimes I think you're still so lost, it's like you never came home at all. I would do anything to make it easier for you, but I'm so scared if I try I'm going to make things worse."  
  
"How could you possibly make it worse?" Blaine asks.  
  
"You're so inside yourself all the time," Dad says. "But it's like you hate it in there and it hurts to watch you hide away from us in a place that only makes you miserable. I don't know if you've noticed, but when your mom sees you get like that, she can go right up to you and just push her way past the walls you put up, like they aren't there at all. But when I try to do the same thing all I can see is how you flinch or pull away from me when I touch you and I feel sick. I can't stop thinking, you've already been hurt so badly, what if all I'm doing is adding to that? I keep thinking about how scared you were when you told us you were gay, and how you kept acting like it somehow made you less of a man. You're not less of a man, okay? I don't know how to make you understand that, and I don't know when it's okay to touch you."  
  
Blaine is quiet for a while. It feels like every fibre of his being it trying to hold back his voice and keep him from saying it but he finally manages,  
  
"I don't think I like it when you touch me. I don't like when Mom touches me either. It feels strange. But I  _hate_  it that you don't touch me. I don't remember you and Mom the way I remember most people. When I think about you before I don't remember what we did together or what you said to me or anything like that. I remember how it felt when you carried me up to my room when I was tired, and what it was like holding your hand when you didn't want me to wander off. It's like it was the only thing I had when I lived with Tom and now it's the only thing missing. Nothing about you fits without it."  
  
"I'm sorry," Dad says, wiping at his eyes a little bit. "Do you think we can start over?"  
  
"How?" Blaine asks.  
  
His dad smiles at him a little and reaches out his hand to Blaine, waiting. Blaine rolls his eyes but he mirrors the action anyhow as he tentatively grabs the hand being offered. It feels rough, dry, and warm. It feels strong, too. He thinks maybe it feels a little familiar.  
  
"We don't have to work on the car anymore if you don't want to," Dad says.  
  
"No, I want to," Blaine says and is a little surprised to realize he's not lying. "It's not all bad."  
  
He's quiet for a minute before adding,  
  
"No football though."  
  
"Deal," his dad says. He still hasn't pulled away. It feels weird. It's awkward to just be sitting in a room holding hands with him for no good reason, and Blaine still isn't sure that part of this isn't just his father trying to convince Blaine and himself that Blaine isn't somehow defective and reassure himself that he's a good father who can rise above his son's sexuality, but he tries not to think about it.  
  
For now he focuses on the feeling of his dad's hand in his.

***

A few weeks later Blaine finds the videos. He doesn't know why Cynthia, with her near fanatical devotion to his past, never bothered to tell him about them. He can't imagine she didn't know. He doesn't know why his parents never bothered to tell him either, for that matter. Whatever the reason, he first notices the folder with his name on it late one night as he's trying to print off a critical response for English class the next morning.  
  
His own laptop is sitting somewhere at Jeff's house getting fitted up with enough encryption protection to kill a horse, after a call from Detective Warren about some suspicious activity from a tabloid that may or may not have been hacking high profile phones and PCs, looking for story fodder. It's off-the-record, and she refuses to give any details, but it scares Blaine enough that he doesn't even want to turn his computer on until Jeff, who builds computers from scratch with his super-genius sister as a very nerdy hobby, offers to take Blaine's second-hand laptop and, as he unconvincingly puts it, "trick it out." It's a relief for Blaine in the long run but for now it means he has to do most of his homework in the study, where he feels obligated to actually  _work_  instead of Skyping with his boyfriend.  
  
It's true his work is finished faster, but it's boring and tedious and so when he notices a folder on the desktop called "Blaine Misc." he clicks it on it almost immediately. There are letters to editors in one subfolder, and press releases about the status of his whereabouts in another. They seem to have released a new one every few months, with minimal changes from one update to the next. Another folder has age simulations, projecting his face at 10 years old, at 12, and at 15. They look like him, but not like him at the same time, and the hair on the back of his neck stands up a little when he thinks about how for years, these photos were the closest things his parents had to school pictures. This was how they watched him grow up.  
  
One subfolder is just called "Memories," and that's where the videos are hiding. Some are labelled and some aren't. He clicks one called "Blaine Comes Home" and a video starts of his parents looking younger than Blaine can remember them, coming in through the front door with a small baby in his mother's arms. A healthy, straight-backed Lola Grace is cheering excitedly as her husband, Blaine's  _Lolo_ , wipes at his eyes and tries to pretend he's not crying.  
  
There's one called "Interpersonal Skills" with him no older than 3, stealing a bottle from an unknown baby and trying to cover its mouth when it starts to scream. His mother's voice is laced with artificial severity as she asks,  
  
"Blaine, what are you doing?"  
  
"Helping," comes the response as the young Blaine on the monitor casually crams the bottle back in the general direction of the baby's mouth.  
  
He looks at all of them, his homework long since forgotten, sitting in the output tray of the printer. He doesn't remember any of the videos being taken, but watching them feels like finding a detailed history about who he used to be. This is what his family was supposed to look like. This is how they used to interact with each other long before Tom ever even saw his face. This is their lost "normal." It's the first documented evidence he's seen that captures the enormity of what was taken away.  
  
He clicks on the unnamed files systematically. He watches part of a primary school play where he skips his lines in favour of ignoring his teacher's prompts and waves happily at the camera. He sees himself opening presents on his 6th birthday. The last file he opens shows their living room, and him sitting on the floor, watching the television intently. He can't be any older than 5.  
  
"Hey Blaine," comes his dad's voice from just off-camera, suspiciously amused. "Watcha doing?"  
  
"TV," comes the distracted half-answer.  
  
"What are you watching?"  
  
" _Mole_."  
  
"You watch  _The Mole_? That's a little weird. Wouldn't you rather watch a cartoon or something?"  
  
"It's my favourite."  
  
"Are you sure you don't want to watch  _Clifford_  instead?"  
  
"No," comes the distracted answer. " _Mole's_  my favourite."  
  
"Why is it your favourite?"  
  
Young Blaine tosses an annoyed look over his shoulder before turning his attention back to the screen.  
  
"Quiet, Dad. You're ruining the best part."  
  
" _Sorry_ ," Dad mutters, sounding anything but. There's a brief skip in the file and when the picture starts up again, Blaine is now sitting facing the camera, happy to placate the adult in the room now that there are no more important things to interfere.  
  
"Why is  _The Mole_  your favourite show, Blaine?"  
  
"Anderson Cooper," Blaine says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
"You like Anderson Cooper?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"How much do you like Anderson Cooper?" His dad asks in a leading tone that indicates this is far from the first time they've had this conversation.  
  
"So much," Blaine says. He stays silent for half a second before he adds, "I love Anderson Cooper."  
  
"Why?" Dad asks.  
  
The Blaine on the monitor looks to his father in bewilderment, like he doesn't know what to do with someone who doesn't know these answers instinctively.  
  
"Because he's pretty, Dad."  
  
"Oh," Dad says. "Right. So you've said. Don't you mean handsome, though? I always thought men were supposed to be handsome and girls were supposed to be pretty."  
  
" _No_ , Dad," Blaine's voice is full of authority. "He's pretty. Anderson Cooper is the  _prettiest_."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"That's okay," Blaine says, graciously. "You don't love him as much as I do."  
  
"I don't know about  _that_ ," Dad says. "How much do you love him?"  
  
"We're getting married," comes the matter-of-fact answer. "Like you and Mom."  
  
"Wow," his dad sounds impressed. "You've really thought this out. When will you get married?"  
  
"When I'm old like you."  
  
"Ouch," says his dad. "But it's good that you're not rushing into anything. Where will you and Anderson live once you're married?"  
  
"With you and Mom."  
  
"Is your room going to be big enough?"  
  
"Dad, he'll have his own room."  
  
"Right. Sorry. Are you going to change your last name to Cooper when you marry him?"  
  
"Why?" Blaine asks.  
  
"A lot of times when two people get married, one of them changes their last name so it matches their husband's." Dad explains. "If Anderson Cooper is going to be your husband maybe you could be Blaine Cooper."  
  
"No," Blaine says. He looks a little upset at the idea. "That's a stupid name. I don't want it. I'll be  _his_  husband, too. He has to change  _his_  name."  
  
"To Anderson?" His dad asks a little incredulously, but 5-year-old Blaine has obviously made his mind up.  
  
"Yes. He won't mind."  
  
"But Blaine," his dad says. "If his  _first_  name is Anderson and he changes his  _last_  name to Anderson, what are people going to call him?"  
  
Blaine is quiet a moment before he figures it out and proudly announces,  
  
"They'll call him Anderson Anderson."  
  
"And you think he'll be okay with that?"  
  
His dad's laughter is so obvious now; even the blissfully oblivious younger version of Blaine has noticed it.  
  
"It's a  _good name_ , Dad. Sometimes when a thing is really good, you want it more than one time. Why are you laughing?"  
  
He looks so offended that his father only laughs harder before he finally manages,  
  
"Blaine, one day you're going to get married, and I can't decide what will make this funnier when I play it at the reception: if you end up married to a girl or if you end up married to a guy."  
  
" _Dad_ ," Blaine says as his face goes red. "You don't listen. I'm marrying  _Anderson Cooper_."  
  
The video stops, sending the computer screen back to the desktop - a new picture of Blaine and Cynthia watching TV in the living room, with Cynthia's head resting on Blaine's lap set up as the wallpaper. He doesn't open any other folders, just sits there staring at the picture and trying to sift through all the feelings rising up inside him.   
  
He only moves when his mom pokes her head into the study to ask,  
  
"Need any help, Blaine? Your phone's been ringing for almost half an hour. Kurt's going to think you fell off a cliff."  
  
"Sorry," Blaine says, standing up and grabbing his paper before he leaves. "Everything's fine."  
  
He's walking towards the stairs to go find his phone and call Kurt before he sends out the riot police, when some commotion in the kitchen changes his mind. He can hear his father shuffling through papers as he talks to someone on the phone, probably waiting for Blaine to leave the study so he can have a little more privacy. Chances are the conversation is about Blaine. Now that Blaine is back, his dad seems to be refocusing a lot of his energy on figuring out what they should expect when Tom finally goes to trial.   
  
He walks up to the kitchen doorway and listens, standing just out of sight. He doesn't pay any attention to what's being said and only pays attention to the voice itself, and the tone. It sounds so different from what he heard in the video. Now the voice sounds like it belongs to someone who's spent almost a decade stretched to the breaking point with worry. It's no wonder that Blaine isn't struck by any wave of recognition when he hears his father speaking; there's so little left now of the voice he used to know.  
  
When his dad finally hangs up, Blaine is still standing by the door. His dad looks surprised to see him there.  
  
"Is something wrong?" he asks.  
  
"No," Blaine shakes his head. "I was just trying to sort something out."  
  
"Do you need -"  
  
Blaine doesn't give him a chance to finish and before he's even fully aware of what he's doing, he's moving forward, hugging his dad tightly and burying his head in his dad's chest. There's half a second of hesitation before his father is hugging back. They've never done this before, but it's nowhere near as awkward as Blaine assumed it would be.  
  
"Are you sure you're okay?" Dad asks again.  
  
"I'm sure," Blaine says, almost into his shirt. "You're just...I'm really glad you're my dad right now, that's all. I think you're doing a really good job."  
  
Dad doesn't answer, but Blaine feels him squeeze a little tighter and he thinks maybe that's better than talking, anyhow.  
  
***  
  
Blaine hates getting his blood tested. Of all the things he's been forced to deal with since he's been home, the testing ranks up there in the top 5 of his worst experiences. In the hospital the night he ran with Stevie, Blaine hadn't been allowed to refuse testing without valid ID to prove his age. Now that he can prove it, it's his parents who keep forcing him to go back.  
  
"I feel fine," he keeps insisting. "There's nothing wrong with me."  
  
"You can't know that," his mom tells him, car keys in hand and a grim expression on her face. They've had this fight more than once in the days leading up to his appointment.  
  
"Tom was only ever with me. He didn't sleep around," Blaine says, ignoring her wince, something she only ever does when  _Blaine_  is the one talking about it. "Anything he gave me came from before we were together. Nothing new will have developed. Same thing with the  _rapist_  pedophile. It was years ago. What more can a new test tell us?"  
  
His mom refuses to listen to reason though.  
  
"He was hurting you, Blaine," she says. "That doesn't mean you magically know everything about him and what he was doing when you weren't there. Get your coat, we're not missing this."  
  
Blaine hates her a little for not listening to him, but not as much as he hates himself for the way his heart starts to hammer in his chest when he watches a vial of his blood get labelled and walked out of the doctor's office by a nurse. He'd never say it out loud, but the idea that something could seriously be wrong with him, no matter how remote, is so terrifying if he lets himself think about it, it's almost debilitating.  
  
With the HSV, he already has an honest-to-god virus inside him, leaching off his spinal cord and infecting his body, a constant reminder of what happened to him and his old life. He doesn't know what he'll do if he's actively contagious with something else, too. Kurt's understanding when it's just a non-existent threat of coldsores, but what will happen to their relationship if there's something there that could actively compromise Kurt's health?  
  
Blaine wouldn't blame him for not being able to handle the news that there's something  _more_  he has to worry about. At this stage, Blaine isn't convinced he'll be able to handle it, either.  
  
***  
  
"You're quiet tonight," Kurt comments.   
  
Blaine shrugs.  
  
"It's nice to have a quiet room for once," he says.  
  
Kurt's roommate is nice enough, but he always has people in the room, taking up space, talking over each other, getting in the way. They couldn't get the guy to stop treating the room like his own private nightclub to save themselves. This last week they've had the place to themselves almost every single night. Blaine thinks it's a shame he didn't find a girlfriend earlier in the year.  
  
"How did the doctor's appointment go this morning?" Kurt says. "I've been meaning to ask."   
  
"Fine," Blaine says. "I keep saying there's nothing wrong with me."  
  
"Probably not," Kurt agrees, sliding closer to him on the bed so he can lean on Blaine's shoulder as he reads. "Still, it's probably better to be safe."  
  
Kurt's weight pulls down on his side like he's carved out of stone. He's taken to being much more tactile lately whenever they talk about Blaine's old life. Blaine's pretty sure it's unconscious, a way he can remind himself that Blaine's in a safe place now - existing alongside Kurt instead of trapped in a nightmare no one knows about.  
  
Normally the small gestures make Blaine's stomach jump in new and surprisingly pleasant ways, knowing that another person cares that much about him, and the idea that anyone can know that much about him and still want to touch him. Today it feels stifling and he's not sure he knows why. Maybe it's because he's spent the whole day hyper-focusing on his body and all the things that could be wrong inside of it.  
  
"You're spacing out," Kurt's voice jars him out of his thoughts and when he looks down Kurt's clear blue eyes staring up at him in concern. "What are you thinking about?"  
  
Blaine leers at him a little.  
  
"Your roommate is out for the evening," he smirks, pushing the paranoid, pointless thoughts out of his mind. "If we don't do anything, it's sort of a wasted opportunity, isn't it?"  
  
Kurt is smirking back at him now as he sets his book to the side and sits up straighter.  
  
"What did you have in mind?" he asks.  
  
Blaine doesn't answer, just leans over and kisses him. He feels Kurt's arms come up around his neck as his hands find their way into the hair that curls at the base of his skull, and he tries to let himself get lost in the feeling of contentment he's only just becoming familiar with. Most days it feels so overwhelming to know that he means this much to another human being he can just let himself get lost in the good endorphins that start coursing through him. Most days he can forget, but most days he's not worried about something evil crawling around underneath his skin either. It feels awful, like he doesn't have control over his own body.  
  
The uneasiness doesn't dissipate like it's supposed to and Blaine makes a small sound of displeasure that could easily be mistaken for something else. Whatever he needs right now, this isn't enough. Carefully he places a hand flat on Kurt's chest, feeling a rush of power when Kurt just smiles into the kiss. Blaine's heart starts to beat faster as he lets his mind settle into an old familiar, safe place. He wonders how far he can take this, or if it will be enough.  
  
Slowly he slides his hand down Kurt's chest, across his abdomen, kissing harder when he feels the muscles tensing underneath him. He doesn't stop until he reaches the half-hard bulge in Kurt's pants.  
  
"Blaine?" Kurt pulls away and his voice is uncertain, but his eyes remain closed. Blaine takes that as a good sign.  
  
"Shhh," he whispers into Kurt's ear, smiling again at the shudder he gets in response. "It's okay. Let me take care of you."  
  
Kurt is even tenser now, the unwelcome tightness in his body mirroring Blaine's own, so he manoeuvres himself so he's practically sitting in Kurt's lap as he pulls open his boyfriend's pants.  
  
"Blaine?" Kurt says again. He sounds worried and his eyes are starting to open as he continues. "I'm not -"  
  
He cuts off and groans a little helplessly as Blaine reaches inside his boxer-briefs to take hold of his erection.  
  
"I can make this feel so good for you," Blaine says, working to keep the desperation out of his voice. "I want to make you feel good."  
  
He starts moving his hand up and down the length of Kurt's penis, and Kurt makes a choking sound, his head falling back against the wall with a thud. Blaine laughs and pulls on Kurt a little harder.  
  
"Do you think your roommate has condoms in here somewhere?"  
  
Kurt's hands are on his wrist before he can blink, eyes open for real this time and staring at him. His face is white beneath his flushed cheeks.  
  
"Condoms?" he repeats.  
  
"Kurt," Blaine smiles, almost chastising. "This part is just foreplay. Have you ever even  _tried_  to watch porn?"  
  
He starts moving his hand again, hoping to distract Kurt long enough to make him give up and drop the act. But then Kurt is pushing him off, still staring at him with that vaguely defeated, half-sick expression on his face.  
  
"I'm not having sex with you, Blaine," he says. "Not tonight."  
  
"Kurt," says Blaine, putting a hand in Kurt's hair in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. He can't afford to lose this. "It's okay to be nervous, but you don't have to be. None of this is new to me, okay? I know what to do."  
  
"Jesus Christ, Blaine," Kurt gasps, sliding out from underneath him completely now, buttoning up his pants so fast he has to be setting records. "Are you  _hearing_  yourself?"  
  
"What?" Blaine asks, genuinely confused and more than a little frustrated. He doesn't need this tonight.  
  
"Why are you even doing this?" Kurt demands. "You don't  _have_  to do this."  
  
"No, I want this," Blaine says. "I thought you would, too."  
  
He feels like he's sinking again.  
  
"You want this?" Kurt says, almost derisively. "Really?"  
  
He reaches out and grabs at the front of Blaine's pants, reversing their position from only minutes before.  
  
"How the hell can you tell, Blaine?"  
  
The frustration he's felt building all day finally starts to rise to the surface. He doesn't like it when it's focused on Kurt.  
  
"Don't worry about that," he manages to say. "It's not about me right now. It's about you."  
  
"You're talking about our first time," Kurt snaps. "Why isn't it about  _us_? You keep pushing for more so much, Blaine, but you never  _say_  anything. You never ask what I want; you never say what  _you_  want. It feels like you're just reciting lines, like you're trying to work off a script. I'm not going to hold it against you if you want to take things slow, Blaine. I understand."  
  
"Why the  _fuck_  should I care about taking things slow?" Blaine explodes, the anger hitting him so fast it almost blindsides him. "With everything that I've done, do you think taking it slow matters?"  
  
"What about everything  _I've_  done?" Kurt counters, and his voice is getting louder, too. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe  _I_  want to take things slow? I don't want to ruin this."  
  
"How considerate," Blaine sneers. "You want to take this slow? No, I get it. Just slow enough to make  _absolutely sure_ the guy I was with before you didn't pass anything on to me, right? Just to make sure it's easier for you to pretend that you were the one who got there first? I've got a news flash for you, Kurt. Lots of people our age have sex, and the longer you wait, the harder it's going to get for you to find your perfect, virginal, blameless match. People date each other and they have sex. It's just how it works, and you get used to it.  _I_  got used to it, why can't you?"  
  
" _Stop_ ," Kurt says, burying his face in his hands and the angry haze in Blaine's mind lifts enough for him to realize that he's the only one who sounds mad anymore and that his boyfriend is full-out  _crying_.  
  
"Kurt?" He says, tentative, not sure what he should be doing.  
  
Kurt pulls his hands away and looks at him, almost shaking.  
  
"I can't listen to you when you talk about him like that anymore," he says. "I know you need to work through this on your own and that it's important that you sort through things in your own time, but I hear you and it feels like you're driving a knife into my chest."  
  
"I - I don't-" Blaine stammers for a moment, at a loss before Kurt interrupts him and says,  
  
"You weren't  _dating_  him, Blaine. I know it's easier for you to treat it like it's something else right now, but nothing about what Tom did was based on anything real. You know the other guy, the one you don't talk about? He didn't do anything to you that Tom wasn't already doing."  
  
"Shut up," Blaine says, quietly, and it's more of a plea than a demand. "You don't know anything about the other guy. All you know about him are the nightmares. You can't say they were the same."  
  
Kurt ignores him and leans forward to rest his hands on Blaine's knees.  
  
"Please don't lie to me about this," he says. "There's no point. Not when you've already told me the truth. I know you hate sex, okay? I remember everything you told me the night I brought you home from that party. I'm never going to sleep with you while there's still a piece of you that's acting out a part because it's what you think you need to do to be in a real relationship. What happened with Tom  _wasn't_  a relationship. He wasn't some sort of abusive partner or a mistake that got you into trouble. He raped you. Pretending it was something else won't change that. I can't sleep with you when you're still hurting so much you can't tell the difference. Do you get that?"  
  
Blaine doesn't respond at first. He pushes back on his heels and sits down hard on the other side of the bed. He feels disoriented. Something's shifted and nothing is sitting right anymore.  
  
"Blaine?" Kurt questions.  
  
"Tom was different from the guard," Blaine says, softly. "I'm not completely insane. I know he wasn't my dad, and he wasn't a friend, let alone a boyfriend. I know he hurt me. But it was still different."  
  
"Why?" Kurt asks. "Just...Can you please explain it to me?"  
  
Blaine feels like all the warmth is slowly leaching out of his body. There's a reason he doesn't ask himself the questions Kurt is asking right now.  
  
"When the guard..." Blaine starts, awkwardly as he tries to find the words. "I remember I thought I was going to die. It wasn't the first time, but I didn't know what was going to happen or why it hurt or when it would stop. Tom was just safer, that's all."  
  
He stops for a minute, because it hurts to say it out loud in a way he wasn't expecting it to.  
  
"Blaine?"   
  
He feels Kurt's cautious hand settle on his shoulder.  
  
"I know Tom raped me, too," Blaine says dully. "But it  _was_  different. It has to be."  
  
"Why do you talk about them so differently?" Kurt asks. "You always try to pass Tom off as not that big a deal."  
  
"I only saw the security guard once," Blaine says, finally. "Tom was there every day. After a while he  _had_  to be less scary. If I'd had to feel the same way about the one who was always there, I think I would have died. I don't think a person can feel that way all the time and keep going. I just told myself something new until I started believing it."  
  
"You're not with him every day now," Kurt says. "Don't you think it's time to stop lying to yourself?"  
  
"I still think about him more than I think about you," Blaine says. "Just because he's not in the same house with me anymore doesn't mean he's not here. If I admit anything now it'll still be just as bad."  
  
Kurt doesn't say anything, just stretches out on the bed, pulling Blaine down next to him so that they're laying side-by-side, with Kurt's arms wrapped around him.  
  
"What am I going to do if there's something wrong with me?" Blaine asks quietly.  
  
"You're going to work past it," Kurt says. "And I'll be right here. We'll be okay."  
  
They're both quiet after that. Blaine doesn't feel any better or any worse, not really. He just feels scared, and cold. Kurt must text his parents to let them know what's happening at some point, because he stays with Kurt until the morning without a single interruption. That night there's nothing else in the world except for the two points of warmth that are Kurt's arms wrapped around him as he lies there quietly, shaking.


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remind yourself of the warnings (take note of the ones that are specifically new for the sequel). The first part of this chapter could be very triggery. And then for the last part? Okay, so maybe this story didn't get it's rating COMPLETELY for not-fun reasons :)
> 
> Also, I'm changing up the format for this section of the story! So exciting! I'm taking my cue from the brilliant AU J2 fic [The Doors of Time](http://felisblanco.livejournal.com/856417.html) (which seriously, everyone should try to read it at least once if you watch SPN or not because it's that good. End plug), and when the time comes for the music, I have a link that will open in a new window so you can hear the song in the background (sadly I can't stream it as I don't have my own site where I can post the song without copyright police taking it down, so this is the only way it works).

**Some Day**  
  
 _At first, they have such terrible luck with the adoption agency it almost seems like the universe doesn't want them to be parents, a fact that leaves Blaine almost too wrecked to function.  
  
"Sweetheart, you've got to calm down a little," Kurt says in frustration, but Blaine honestly can't help it. All he can think about these days, all he's been thinking about ever since their names were put on a list, is that today could be the day when they find the rest of their family.  
  
Adopting an older child isn't as straightforward as adopting a baby, though, and that's pretty damn complicated in and of itself. There are a lot of hoops that have to be jumped through, and if one little thing doesn't line up, it can ruin the entire process. Kurt and Blaine end up making a scrapbook, geared to the age of child they'd agreed with the agency would be the best fit: a boy or girl around 10 years old (give or take a couple years in either direction, depending on compatibility). The scrapbook is all about their lives together and what they do for work and the kinds of things they like. Sometimes it's just for the kid's benefit, so they can look through it and decide if Kurt and Blaine are interesting and worth meeting. Sometimes the birth parents look at it, too, if they're still present in their child's life and have any say in what happens to them.  
  
Kurt hates the idea that their future son or daughter gets to pick them "out of a catalogue," but Blaine secretly likes it. He already feels like he's doing the same thing to them when the agency arranges meetings with children to get an idea if Kurt and Blaine will be compatible. This levels the playing field.  
  
"The idea isn't to see if you instantly hit it off," says Nancy, the social worker with the name Blaine finally figured out a week after their first interview with her. "We've even adopted kids into families where they've physically lashed out at their adoptive parents the first time they met. We want to see if you can establish rapport with them, and mostly to see how you handle them and their responses. It's not a test, but it will give us an idea on if you have compatible personalities, which is something you need to think about when the child is older and you don't have any previous relationship with them."  
  
The first meeting is a complete mess. The little 7-year-old girl is sweet, charming, a little on the slow side thanks to what Nancy terms as "severe neglect," and apparently _ staggeringly _homophobic, if that's even the right word for it. It's something absolutely no one knew about, either, not until halfway through the meeting when she suddenly realized what the two of them being married meant. One second she's showing Blaine how she ties her shoes and the next she's literally clinging to the far wall, refusing to make eye contact, genuinely terrified and muttering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over again.  
  
Blaine has no idea what she thought they were, since she knew they were married before she met them and had been told multiple times that he and Kurt "love each other." It's as though she has no comprehension of why people get married or what love means as a concept. The absolute worst part of it is the only people to get mad at have already been removed from the picture for being unfit parents. Even Nancy looks shaken when she joins them in the car a few minutes later, after leaving the girl in the care of her foster parents.  
  
"I'm so sorry," she says, her voice tight with emotion. "We had no idea... That's never happened with her before. There's nothing in her file that indicated she'd have that response."  
  
Blaine doesn't want to leave. He wants to go back into the house and hold her until she stops being afraid, even though he knows he can't. He just wants to help her.  
  
"Someone _ will _help her," Nancy says, firmly. "Her foster parents are very good, and they're long-term care besides. They'll figure out what the problem is before too long, and they'll help her get past it. Maybe one day she'll end up adopted into a gay family, who knows? But it won't be your family. It would be disastrous and cruel for everyone if we kept pretending it was a possibility at this point."  
  
Blaine knows she's oversimplifying, but he knows she's also telling the truth when she says this is better for everyone. It doesn't stop him from worrying about the little girl constantly.  
  
The next meeting is cancelled weeks in advance. The little boy, an 11-year-old this time, has a parent who gets some say in where her child is placed, and is only agreeing to adoption on the condition that the arrangement is open and she still gets to be involved with her son. Things seem to be progressing nicely on Nancy's end until suddenly one day they aren't. When Nancy calls to explain she says it's because the boy's father has shown up again and doesn't want his kid living in "a house full of atheists."  
  
"Right," Kurt says, as he tries to keep his voice from breaking. Blaine reaches across the kitchen table and squeezes his arm. "All one of me."  
  
"Under most circumstances, the parents are allowed to specify if they want their children to be raised in a religious environment," Nancy says.  
  
"I'm sure," Kurt says, bitterly. "Of course that's what this is about – atheism and not some backwards-thinking physically-abusive alcoholic saying he doesn't want his kid to grow up with queers."  
  
Nancy doesn't even try to deny it.  
  
"I'm really sorry about this, guys," she says. "But please don't give up. These kinds of things can sometimes happen when the birth parents have a say in the adoption. It's just the nature of the beast."  
  
After the second cancellation, it's months before they hear from Nancy again. They don't talk about it to each other, like they've forgotten they ever done so much as walked into a parenting class together 2 years earlier, or been subjected to home visits from social workers. But even pretending to forget is impossible with the second bedroom still in some strange sort of limbo and sadness and strain he knows is in his eyes mirrored back at him in Kurt's whenever they look at each other. Some nights he hears Kurt on the phone with his father in the other room, crying. Blaine always stays away until they've said their goodbyes and acts like he hasn't noticed when Kurt comes back into the living room with a watery smile on his face that he knows couldn't possibly fool anyone, let alone his husband. He holds Kurt closer than usual on the nights that they go to bed after there's been a phone call to Ohio.  
  
Then one afternoon he gets a text from Kurt asking him to take the rest of the day off and come home. It's a bizarre request, since Kurt is supposed to be at the theatre rehearsing that evening anyhow, and he would never send a text message asking for Blaine to bail on work instead of calling unless he was too worked up to string a sentence together.  
  
Blaine gets home in half an hour. Kurt is in the lobby waiting for him, one arm wrapped tightly around his torso, the other nervously chewing on a nail. His face is flushed and his eyes are darting around the room, not like he's scared, but upset nonetheless and too distracted by whatever is going on in his head to focus properly on anything.  
  
"What's going on?" Blaine asks as soon as he's inside.  
  
Kurt just shakes his head as he grabs Blaine's arm and hauls him towards the elevator. He doesn't say a word the entire ride to their floor, only fidgets silently as Blaine feels the tension build up inside him to near unbearable levels.  
  
"Nancy called," Kurt says the second the door to their apartment closes shut behind them.  
  
Blaine figured it would have something to do with the adoption, but his heart still gives a little lurch when Kurt says it.  
  
"Does she have another name?" Blaine asks, hesitantly.  
  
Kurt looks at him with a somewhat pained expression.  
  
"She has two," he says. "I didn't know what to tell her. I told her I needed to talk to you about it before we agreed to meet anyone and I couldn't handle waiting until we both got home."  
  
"Okay," Blaine says, a little slowly. "I understand you needed to talk to me first, but this is really good news, isn't it? We already told them we would be willing to take siblings if they think we'll be a good fit for them."  
  
Kurt just looks at him. He's acting shell-shocked.  
  
"What's the catch?" Blaine asks, cringing a little at his choice of words but he can't help it because Kurt is looking at him like his world is breaking apart and Blaine can't figure out why this has him so shaken.  
  
"It's a boy and a girl," Kurt finally says. "The little boy is ten. He's a sports fan, and he likes cartoons. Nancy says he has some anger problems, and that he needs to learn impulse control – that it's not okay to hit when you get scared or angry, but he's a really good little kid who normally wouldn't be too hard to adopt out."  
  
"So the problem's his sister," Blaine guesses, and when Kurt wilts a little more he knows he's right.  
  
"She's way outside our age range, Blaine," he says.  
  
"How old?" Blaine asks.  
  
"Fourteen," Kurt says. "And she's... extremely unstable."  
  
"Violent?" Blaine asks, but Kurt shakes his head.  
  
"No," he says. "Nancy says she has a wonderful personality and is very polite and never puts a toe out of line, and that she's just about the only person who can make her brother behave himself instantly."  
  
"Is the only problem her age?"  
  
Kurt shakes his head again, and his eyes start to go glassy. It's beyond disconcerting to see him acting this way, but it's becoming clearer to Blaine _ why _, anyhow. Kurt's acting like_ he _normally does about these calls from Nancy, and has fallen hard for the kids without even seeing a picture.  
  
"They keep getting bounced to different foster homes," Kurt says in a rush. "When she's not in a psych ward. No one knows what to do with her. Foster parents all say she's too much work."  
  
"Psych ward?" Blaine repeats, suddenly starting to realize why he's having to fight through Kurt's explanations to get any real answers. There is no way he's going to like what he hears. Kurt is probably half terrified of triggering _ him _in some way.  
  
"She cuts herself," Kurt says.  
  
"So do a lot of kids," Blaine says. "We told Nancy we were prepared to deal with that."  
  
Kurt leans into Blaine's shoulder. Blaine can feel him trembling a little.  
  
"It's a little more extreme than what most kids do. She's almost bled to death three times since they entered the system a year and a half ago."  
  
"You're not telling me everything," Blaine accuses.  
  
"I don't want to tell you everything," Kurt mutters. "I don't want to say it out loud."  
  
This, Blaine decides, is why everyone jokes that there is only going to be one functional parent in their home at any given time, because as Blaine watches Kurt shut down he can feel himself switch to the side of his brain reserved for gathering and sorting facts as he weeds out any unnecessary emotions and pushes them off to the side to deal with later. He steers Kurt to the couch and sits both of them down.  
  
"So she doesn't cut her arms, is what you're saying," he guesses.  
  
"Her thighs," Kurt finally admits, looking a little grey. "And that...general area."  
  
"Right," Blaine says. "So sexual abuse? Or is it something else? What happened to the little boy?"  
  
"It's sexual abuse and other things," Kurt says. "The mother got a boyfriend, and things got really bad. They're pretty sure the only one he ever targeted was the girl, though. He's in jail, and the mother got a slap on the wrist. She was fighting to get the boy back for a while, which forced them to put off trying to adopt them, but then it came out that she wasn't exactly watching from the sidelines for all of the abuse, either. There's no way she'll be allowed to keep either of them anymore."  
  
Kurt hugs Blaine tightly as he continues.  
  
"The stuff he was doing didn't even sound like abuse. It was more like torture. It sounds like the worst things that ever happened to you, but all the time. Without a break for almost a whole year before anyone found out what was happening."  
  
"So this girl is a danger to herself and is so creepy in the ways that she goes about it she scares the foster families, right?" Blaine says, waiting for Kurt to nod a little reluctantly, like admitting it will make Blaine's words the new reality instead of just an acknowledgment of a pre-existing fact. "Why does Nancy think she would work well with us?"  
  
"Because her brother sounds legitimately perfect for us," Kurt says. "Because we said we'd think about adopting siblings, and she thought we wouldn't scare as easily as any of the other parents who are on the list. Because you're amazing and I think Nancy thinks saving children is a hobby you do in your spare time."  
  
He's calming down a little now, and Blaine thinks that's a good thing, so he jokingly says,  
  
"Only sometimes. Like, sometimes I'll stop speeding trains to help them out every now and then if they wander onto the tracks, but only if no one's watching. I don't like showing off."  
  
"That's showing off?" Kurt asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.  
  
"Kurt," Blaine says, seriously. "I'm fucking Superman. I don't rub people's faces in it."  
  
Kurt sits up a little straighter and punches him lightly in the side, laughing a little as he says,  
  
"So help me god, Blaine, if you're cheating on me, I'll serve you your balls on a platter. I don't care how nice his abs look in that spandex leotard."  
  
Blaine leans over and tickles him in the side, the only spot on Kurt's entire body where he's ticklish. Kurt shrieks a little and squirms to get away, so Blaine swings his legs across Kurt's lap, pinning him in place while he continues the assault. After a few minutes Kurt is laughing gently and his body has relaxed as he mildly tries to fight Blaine off.  
  
"Feel better?" Blaine asks. Kurt shrugs.  
  
"Maybe a little," he says.  
  
"I didn't think you'd let it get to you like that," Blaine says, moving his arm around to wrap Kurt in a half-hug. He's practically sitting on his lap now. "You were always so level-headed when it was my issues getting thrown at you."  
  
Kurt laughs louder at that and sighs a little as he lets his head fall back against Blaine.  
  
"Go say that to any of my family and see how they react," he says. "I was such a basket case when I started to date you. It wasn't as bad when I was with you, but when you weren't there? I was beside myself all the time. Some days I walked in the door and immediately start crying like I'd never be able to stop."  
  
"I didn't know," Blaine says.  
  
"I never wanted you to," Kurt says. "You had this awful habit of apologizing and acting like it was your fault when there was nothing you had done wrong."  
  
"But that's awful," Blaine says. "I didn't know it was so hard on you. And I _ am _sorry."  
  
Kurt snorts.  
  
"You still have that habit. Don't be sad about it Blaine. It's hard to deal with, and it was _ really _hard to deal with when everything was new to me and everyday felt like there was some new horrible thing I was finding out about your life, but in the end it was worth it. Aside from the obvious, where nothing happened to you in the first place, I wouldn't change anything. Not if it meant I never got to have you in my life at all."  
  
Blaine leans down and kisses the top of Kurt's head.  
  
"Call Nancy back," he says. "If you can handle me all on your own, I'm sure between the two of us we can handle the girl. According to you, she'll be worth it."  
  
"Maggie," Kurt corrects, finally remembering that he's sort of been leaving out one of the most important parts. "Their names are Maggie and Marshall."  
  
"They match," Blaine comments. "I've never been part of a matching family before."  
  
"You know when they get here, you may not be able to sit on my lap like this anymore," Kurt says. "It's sort of weird."  
  
"Shut up, you love it," Blaine says, staying right where he is. "We're adorable. They'll get used to it."_  
  
***  
  
 **For Now**  
  
Blaine doesn't understand why, but something about the conversation he and Kurt have about Tom that night sets off a chain of reactions in him he didn't even know he was capable of having. The next morning when he wakes up, still in Kurt's arms, he feels like he's been shoved through a wood chipper, like the guy in  _Fargo_. His limbs are too heavy and feel like they're not properly attached to his body. His eyelids feel like sandpaper. His ears don't even seem to be working properly as he listens to Kurt's gentle voice encourage him into a sitting position so they both can get out of the bed. Everything sounds too loud and too far off at the same time. He can't remember the last time he's felt this tired. His joints ache with exhaustion, like he hasn't slept for weeks. Even when he first got home and was trying to sleep off cracked ribs, he didn't feel as run down as he does now.  
  
The way his body feels is nothing compared to how muddled his thoughts are, though. It feels like his brain has been scooped out of him and someone's filled his head up with cotton wool in its place.  
  
"Are you okay?" Kurt keeps asking. "You seem really upset."  
  
But Blaine isn't upset. He feels hollow, like everything has been taken away and nothing matters anymore. He thinks maybe it should feel a little scary, but the thought of feeling scared about anything just exhausts him further.  
  
That morning he gets sent to the principal's office three times for not paying attention in class before he's sent to the nurse and then finally the counsellor. Everyone stares at him with the same worried expression. Blaine doesn't understand what's so troubling, but when Kurt and Wes and a handful of the other Warblers find him at lunchtime, Thad sums it up nicely when he says,  
  
"Blaine, you look like death. Are you sure you're going to be okay?"  
  
"Wes and some of the guys heard part of our fight last night," Kurt tells him, blushing a little, like he's embarrassed that everyone heard  _what_  they were fighting about. Blaine probably would be too, if he didn't feel so...flat. "They were worried and wanted to talk to you."  
  
"Kurt says his old glee club used to sing to each other when someone was upset," Jeff pipes up, looking at him with big sad eyes that look more like they belong on one of Cynthia's ridiculous pink teddy bears more than on an actual person. He almost looks like he wants to cry a little. Blaine absently wonders what he did to make these people like him so much. "Do you want us to take you to the choir room and sing you something? I don't know who will sing the lead because these days that's  _your_  job but I'm sure we can figure it out."  
  
Blaine just shakes his head.  
  
"No thank you," he says. "I'm just tired."  
  
Jeff nods at him in understanding and for the next couple of hours the Warblers seem to try to give him a wider berth, so that he can work through whatever it is he needs to work through. They give up soon, after Wes catches him staring blankly at his desk, completely oblivious to the fact that class has let out and he's the last person in the room.  
  
"Come on, Blaine," Wes says, frowning a little as he gently tugs on Blaine's blazer. "We'll be late for chemistry."  
  
In the end, the Warblers end up leading him around from one class to the next, like a pack of seeing-eye dogs, and it almost feels like he's the new kid again, only his displacement is no longer coming from a lack of familiarity. He's lost because somehow he's trapped in a shell of himself, but his mind, his personality, everything that makes him who he is, has gone off into hiding somewhere he doesn't know how to follow.  
  
Everyone is worried about him – Kurt, his parents, but the Warblers are especially bad. They hover around him like a flock of nervous hens as they try to keep his head above water with his schoolwork. They don't even seem to mind when his hours of listlessness becomes a day, then two, and then a week, and he hasn't so much as gotten out of his chair in the choir room to sing his share of backing vocals, let alone successfully manage to sing the lead on any of their songs for sectionals.   
  
It's not that he isn't interested in music anymore. He still thinks he's lucky to be a part of the club, and even listens to all the songs they're practising whenever he's alone. In fact he's been listening to more music in general since that night than he has listened to since his parents gave him his iPod, but only to have something there to distract from the fog in his mind. The concept of standing up and singing something right now takes too much energy to even contemplate. Most of the time it's almost second nature to him to shut out the feelings cluttering up his mind to put on a different face and sing something top 40 and pointless. It's just a slight variant on the kind of acting he's been doing almost as long as he can remember, but it's different when there don't seem to be any emotions for him to block out and he can't get a handle on the ones he's supposed to be trying to emulate, either.  
  
"Just take some time off," Nick says from his seat on the council, trying to look as encouraging as possible. "You're the strongest lead we've ever had, and most of what we need to work on right now is the backing vocals anyhow. You'll be ready when we're ready to work on your part again. Don't worry."  
  
Blaine wasn't worried because he doesn't care about what happens at sectionals, but he doesn't tell them this. He has a feeling that deep down they know anyhow, and even if they didn't, the thought of being spiteful or hurtful to anyone is suddenly the last thing he wants to do. He's gone from insulting everyone inside his head at the slightest provocation to having no emotional response to them at all. His own anger has drained away from him with the rest of his energy and there doesn't seem to be much point anymore. Mostly he just wants to sleep.  
  
Once the word about Blaine's problems hit New Directions back in Lima, Blaine starts to see more of them on a regular basis. The newly "reformed" Quinn, who has gone back to blonde hair and dressing like she doesn't know what sex is in an attempt to ingratiate herself with Shelby, starts coming over to his house at night again. It's awkward when his nightmares, which had died out for the most part over the summer, start coming back again, the terror and rage and pain he can't feel when he's awake finding an avenue when his defences are down and there's nothing to stop them from taking over. Quinn never asks if he wants to talk about it when he wakes up with his heart racing and embarrassing, anguished noises still in his throat. She only ever slides closer to him on the bed and puts an arm across his shoulders while her other hand brushes through his hair until numbness or sleep have a chance to creep back over him. Apart from Kurt, she's the only person who never tries to make him snap out of it.   
  
Even his parents try to get him to talk about what's bothering him until Dr. Hong overhears them one day and gently pulls them aside to suggest that they give him a little more time to sort things out on his own terms. It might mean more to Blaine if he hadn't just spent an hour with her as she tried to make him explain why he thought he might be "shutting down" his emotions before he gives himself a chance to sort through them. She keeps trying to tell him that he should look into changing his prescriptions and talking to him about depression, but Blaine balks at the idea of any changes to his medications; it took them so long to find something that didn't make him feel like hell. The new appointments end up being made anyhow, but in the end, at least Dr. Hong knows what she's doing when she talks to Blaine or makes him change his routine. She never pushes him for the sake of her own comfort.  
  
The same can't be said for Finn and Rachel, who are  _terrible_  at minding their own business, and always make a point of coming into Kurt's room to talk to him whenever he happens to be over, not even bothering to knock, like they know he and Kurt have been acting like monks around each other ever since this started anyway. It seems to be harder on Kurt than it is on Blaine, who just goes along with whatever pointless activity that gets thrown at him. But Kurt looks like he wants to slap the fake smiles off their faces, and starts acting like none of their friends are good enough at interacting with him to risk being allowed within 30 feet of him. He even starts trying to get out of shopping dates with Mercedes when she begins to invite Blaine along with them, like he has to protect Blaine from her questions. Blaine is at least aware enough to call Kurt on it and tell him that it's stupid for them to put their lives on hold until Blaine stops acting like a freak, since there's very little evidence that will ever actually happen. Blaine never has fun when he agrees to go with them, but in the end it serves the same function as the music: a distraction, and at any rate it seems to make _everyone_  feel better when he shows up. Soon Santana and Brittany and, however implausibly, Puck begin to join them for "retail therapy" if they know Blaine will be there, too.  
  
Even poor clueless Brittany can tell that something's wrong with him and tells him long stories with tears in her eyes about the time when she was little and her favourite doll was left too close to an iron and got it's hair burned off and "was never the same again."  
  
"For God's sake, Brittany," Santana finally snaps. "Blaine's clown hair did  _not_  hold superpowers, okay? He's having a bad month or something; he didn't lose his Blaine magic when he lost his split ends."  
  
"Maybe you should try locking in what's left with some hair gel, just in case," Brittany suggests as she looks at him, heartbroken. As ridiculous as her solutions are, Blaine wishes he could live in a world like hers, where there's an easy solution to every problem. She's so adamant about fixing him that she insists on buying a whole shopping cart full of hair product and driving back to Westerville with him and Kurt so she can save him before they lose any more time.  
  
The end results are atrocious. It looks like someone has forced him to lower his head into a bucket of shellac and then forced his hair to lay flat on his head in carefully situated waves. Cynthia laughs delightedly when she sees it and runs to her room to grab a Ken doll and hold it next to Blaine's face.  
  
Brittany claps excitedly when she sees them side-by-side.  
  
"That's the look I was going for," she says. "A lot of people think Ken's a douche, but whatever people say about him, he never changes. He never starts being someone new."  
  
Blaine thanks Brittany profusely for everything she's done, because that's just what you do after Brittany "helps" you with a problem, and washes everything out as soon as she's left with Kurt. That night he doesn't sleep, just stares at the ceiling thinking about her words.  _Has_  he changed again? He's spent so much time since coming back convinced he was too different to properly fit into this world again, but for a brief moment he'd actually thought that he was getting closer to belonging again.   
  
The idea that he's somehow destroyed his one chance at normalcy eats away at him until daylight starts creeping in through his window. Things don't feel as bleak and meaningless as they did the night before, but in its place there is an uneasy restlessness. Blaine feels like there are spiders skittering around inside his chest, as desperate to escape as he is to have them leave. It gets worse as the day progresses, his anxiety warring against his apathy until he wants to scream and only stop once the tension and exhaustion have left his body.  
  
"Nothing makes sense," he responds to Trent's "How are you holding up?" that afternoon as he's being dragged out of history class towards the choir room for practise. "It's like there's so many things inside me I'm not even here."  
  
Trent looks at him strangely for half a second before he recovers and says, sympathetically,   
  
"I know what you mean. I feel like that sometimes when I don't get enough sleep during midterms. It's like you're floating everywhere and nothing exists except important names and dates from the War of the Roses. Just awful."  
  
Trent has no idea what Blaine means, but it's still pretty sweet to hear how he and the rest of the Warblers try so desperately hard to make him feel normal while he fights through whatever the hell it is he's going through.  
  
Kurt comes up to them and loops his arm through Blaine's as he kisses him quickly on the cheek and smiles a hello. He doesn't bother to ask how Blaine's doing. They both know better than to ask Blaine questions like that at this point. He's turning to ask Trent a question when the smile drops off his face and is replaced by a look of incredulous disbelief. Blaine cranes his neck around a little to see what the problem is.  
  
"Kurt, oh thank God I found you, I've been looking for you  _everywhere_ ," she says as she hurries up to meet them.  
  
"Rachel," Kurt says, in a strained voice. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Kurt, I have terrible news," Rachel says, so distraught that her agitation is almost three-quarters genuine instead of entirely put-on. "It's about you and the Warblers. I need to talk to all of you right away."  
  
"What's going on?" Kurt demands. "Rachel, what are you  _talking_  about?"  
  
"Kurt," Rachel says, clutching at his sleeve in desperation. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, but one of my sources got access to all the sectionals competition brackets. I wasn't going to look, I didn't want to, but it's my senior year and I  _had_  to know the enemies of my enemies if I wanted to defeat them just this  _one time_  before I graduate. I  _had to know_ , Kurt."  
  
"I take it we're going against each other in sectionals then?" Kurt asks, his tone indicating that he doesn't know if he should be amused or annoyed. But Rachel shakes her head, sombrely.  
  
"Who McKinley is competing against doesn't matter right now," She says, her voice dropping as she steeples her fingers together and presses them to her forehead, taking a deep breath before continuing. "You're my favourite Kurt, when I beat everyone at Nationals this year, the only person I want to come in second to me is you. But the Warblers are in trouble and if you want to do this for me, you need to change your plan of attack right now, because they will  _wipe the floor with you_."  
  
"Rachel," Kurt starts again, sounding completely frustrated now, but Rachel interrupts before he can say anything more.  
  
"It's Vocal Adrenaline, Kurt. The Warblers are going to be the first glee club of the year competing against Vocal Adrenaline."

***

"Okay troops, we need to focus!" Rachel's voice rings out over the chaos, authoritative and determined. "I'd like to thank you all for making it to this emergency meeting on such short notice."  
  
"But we had a meeting anyhow," Nick sounds lost and a little crestfallen. "And you can't talk. I have the gavel."  
  
"Oh right," Rachel says, reaching over to pluck it from Nick's hands and rap it sharply on the table, where she has wedged herself between the actual club leaders.  
  
"Attention!" she calls out, "This  _emergency meeting_  will come to order, please!"  
  
"Dammit, Warbler Kurt!" Wes snaps, snatching back the gavel. "Why did you bring her in with you? She's not a student here, she's not a Warbler, and she's not even a boy. She has no business at this meeting, let alone with our gavel."  
  
"I didn't invite her," Kurt protests. "I don't even know how she got in."  
  
"Can we please stop squabbling over trivialities and focus on the astronomical problem facing you gentlemen?" Rachel says, impatiently. "This isn't a game anymore, Warblers! Without my help, Vocal Adrenaline will  _destroy_  you and everything you hold dear."  
  
"Because  _you_  have such a good track record at beating Vocal Adrenaline?" Kurt snarks. "Admit it, Rachel, you're just trying to get them out of the running now so that you don't have to go against them later."  
  
"Yes I am," Rachel is shameless. "No offense, boys, but you are like tiny, squeaky little kittens compared to Vocal Adrenaline. You might get some points for being cute if we compete against you, but compared to the McKinley High glee club, you are uninspired and predictable. I'm positive you will be easily taken down by any one of my possible solo choices from my extensive Barbra catalogue."  
  
"But isn't that good? People  _like_  kittens," Jeff protests, seemingly unworried about speaking out of turn, since nothing about this meeting is following standard procedure anyhow. Blaine isn't sure if Rachel's  _trying_  to be mean with her analogy or if she's just being Rachel, but unlike Jeff, he doesn't care about what she's saying at all, let alone what her intentions are. Deep down he knows he probably would if this were any other time, but something about the fact that he's spent weeks stuck in what feels like an emotionless vacuum, where the only feelings that sneak through are via unavoidable night terrors, makes singing pop songs better than a handful of self-absorbed high schoolers fairly low on his priority list. The longer he listens to Rachel prattle on, the more upset he becomes about his lack of caring. Everything about his feelings is confusing and impossible. He's starting to worry that he's losing his mind from being trapped inside it for too long.   
  
Kurt is looking at him worriedly and at first Blaine doesn't understand why, but then he realizes that Rachel has started to talk about him specifically and how his arrival has cemented their likable bubbly singing style, making him at once their greatest asset and biggest liability. Blaine doesn't know why Kurt thinks he even has the energy to be bothered by that, but before long Kurt can't take it anymore and starts being offended on his behalf.  
  
"There's nothing wrong with Blaine's presentation, Rachel," he says firmly.  
  
"Aside from the fact that he can't sing anything with more substance than Katy Perry and old O Town singles," Rachel says. "I'm not trying to hurt anyone's feelings, Kurt.  _Of course_  Blaine is very good at what he does, and his shallow, meaningless, feel-good repertoire is a delightful fit for this club, but it's all you do. Vocal Adrenaline is on to you guys. Maybe they've been watching your senior's home performances, I don't know, but they've discovered your weakness. I had Lauren bug the Carmel choir room and do you know what they have Sunshine Corazon singing this year? 'It's All Coming Back to Me Now.' Celine Dion ghost romance, Kurt! Do you honestly think Blaine bopping around on stage singing 'Spice up Your Life' will compete with that?"  
  
Blaine's mood lifts marginally when he sees Wes's eyes light up before he scribbles something into his notebook, like the idea had never occurred to him before.  
  
"I understand where you're coming from, um, non-Warbler Rachel," Thad says, stumbling a little over his words as he tries to come up with an acceptable title. "We fully recognize the inherent danger in facing off against Vocal Adrenaline so early in the competitive season. That's why we agreed to turn this meeting into an emergency meeting, despite the fact that we never held a meeting to vote on it first."  
  
He clears his throat a little and addresses the room.  
  
"Fellow Warblers," he says. "In light of the dire situation we find ourselves in, the council has made the decision to hold open auditions to create a new and improved set list for Sectionals."  
  
The Warbler equivalent to bedlam erupts in the room as everyone begins talking over each other, nervously. Even Blaine raises his eyebrows a little. Auditions with the Warblers are always carefully planned out. You have to get an invitation to try out for each pre-determined solo. Even Blaine has to audition for the leads, because although they seem to worship the ground he walks on, violating tradition and just giving him the parts would be unthinkable. Open auditions are a sign of end times in this glee club. Rachel at least seems happy about the way things are going, though, and she claps her hands together in excitement.  
  
"I was hoping this would happen! I've taken the liberty of arranging accompaniment so you don't have to worry about providing it for yourselves and getting distracted from the task at hand. On-the-spot acappella can be very problematic."  
  
She skips over to the piano and Blaine starts a little because there's been a strange man sitting there, probably the entire meeting and he hadn't even noticed. He'd be more alarmed, but the guy is obviously there with Rachel and looks a little familiar besides. He's trying to figure it out when Kurt solves the mystery, disgustedly blurting out,  
  
"Rachel, you made  _Brad_  come here with you, too? Did you even ask first or did you just knock him out and toss him in the backseat?  _God_  you're selfish sometimes! Did it ever occur to you that he has  _better_  things to do? He could have had...I don't know...papers to mark? Maybe?"  
  
He loses momentum as he looks at the New Directions accompanist a little helplessly before stammering,  
  
"Um...F-floors to sweep? Sorry Brad, I just...are – are you a... What  _do_  you do at McKinley when you aren't playing the piano for us?"  
  
Brad stares at him impassively and doesn't say a word, so Rachel takes the opportunity to leap to her own defense.   
  
"I swear I wasn't going to bring him, Kurt," she says. "But I just, I ran into him on the way out and told him what I was doing and he looked so  _sad_  that I wasn't inviting him to come with me. I couldn't just  _leave him_ , Kurt."  
  
She looks so earnest and sincere, and Brad so decidedly uninterested that it makes Blaine think about how his sister sometimes fights to take Mrs. Frisby with her to school some mornings because "she'll get lonely" without her there. Blaine is pretty certain neither Brad nor Mrs. Frisby give a fuck where they're dragged off to, just so long as no one tries to ruffle their hair or talk to them in a condescending tone as it's happening. He sits there staring at the wall for a while as he absently ponders all the ways Brad is more cat than person when he suddenly realizes that everyone in the room is looking at him.  
  
"Blaine?" Rachel repeats, looking at him expectantly. "You're lead vocalist. Do you have any numbers you think would be helpful in propelling your team to victory?"  
  
"I think I'd better sit this one out," Blaine says, finally. He notices none of the other Warblers are disagreeing with him, each of them probably remembering the disaster it's been every time he's tried to sing lead for them in the last few weeks. Rachel stares at him hard for a minute before emitting an annoyed sound and turning her attention back to Brad and the piano.  
  
***  
  
A few hours later and things still aren't looking much better. The auditions so far haven't brought the results Rachel is clearly desperate for. They've been at it so long they've even had to break for supper, but they're no closer to finding the elusive magical number that's going to give them an edge over Vocal Adrenaline.  
  
It  _has_  been decided that the strongest song combination for a set list will be to begin with something fun ("To catch them off their guard before we slaughter their chickens and salt their land," says Cameron, who is getting  _way_  too into this), then move to something a little slower to serve as a transition into the Showstopper, which can be whatever the hell it wants to be so long as it makes the judges weep so hard they can't pay attention to the other competitors.  
  
The fun song has never been a problem: they'll stick with their original choice of "Uptown Girl," even though when they do a quick run through everyone instantly agrees with Rachel when she suggests it might be better if they took Blaine's part and divided it up among some of the other reliable soloists. Nick looks like a combination of impossibly happy and inconsolably guilty when the bulk of the number falls to him. It doesn't matter how many times Blaine tells him it's alright and he's not upset, Nick still looks a little bit like he wants to cry every time someone congratulates him.  
  
It takes a lot longer to find a slow song, so long that Kurt makes a point of grabbing his phone to text Blaine's parents to warn that they'll be late. Blaine absently wonders when Kurt started acting like a better son to his parents than he did, but he's not surprised that Kurt is the one to think about it first. Kurt is always so good at looking after people, and these days Blaine can barely find the energy to tie his own shoes, let alone impress his parents. Even in the meeting he's mostly just sitting on the couch, staring at Kurt's hand in his and the way Kurt's thumb brushes up and down the tops of his fingers. He wonders how long it will take everyone to realize how little he's contributing now that they're starting to get desperate.  
  
The problem seems to be that their best contender for a slow song is Kurt's cover of "Black Bird" which unfortunately also the closest thing they have to a showstopper, too. No one argues that Kurt is capable of singing the hell out of the number, but like Rachel says,  
  
"It's so subdued. You can't beat an over-emotive power ballad with  _subtlety_. People pay attention to whoever sings loudest. If you would just agree to something from – "  
  
"Rachel, drop it!" Kurt snaps. "I've already told you that  _The Assassins_  is going to alienate the judges if I sing it out of context and even if it wouldn't, acappella Sondheim arrangements are show choir suicide. Broadway is off the table, Berry. You need to accept it and move on."  
  
Blaine agrees, if only because Kurt has made him listen to  _The Assassins_  soundtrack before, and so far as over-emotive torch songs go, there have got to be better options to beat a Celine Dion medley than love songs dedicated to serial-killing cult leaders. He stays out of it, though, letting his eyes drift shut slightly. He's so that tired he hopes Kurt will elbow him if he actually falls asleep, because he knows his detached attitude is worrying the rest of the club, but watching him wake up crying probably won't make them feel any better. Fortunately he's yanked back to attention by Rachel, who has paused for breath long enough to notice his total lack of giving a shit.  
  
"I'm sorry Blaine," she says, full of false sympathy. "Are we disturbing you? I didn't realize my effort to save your entire club from premature destruction was interfering with the lead singer's  _nap time_."  
  
"Knock it off, Rachel," Kurt sing-songs out in an equally irritated tone.  
  
"He's your lead singer, Kurt," Rachel protests. "And I understand that he's going through a hard time, but maybe if he can't handle it he shouldn't be your lead singer, no matter how much you all like him. What chance do you guys have if you're betting all your success on him and he doesn't even care?"  
  
"I care," Blaine says, because in a way he sort of does. At least, he  _wants_  to care, for the sake of his friends, and because caring would mean he's not hollowed out and broken. "It's just complicated right now, that's all. And besides, I wouldn't be any help for this sort of thing anyhow. I've never sung a serious song in my life, Rachel. I don't mind listening or anything, but I've never been able to sing the way you and Kurt can."  
  
"You're not good at it because you don't let yourself be good at it," Rachel says stubbornly. "I know you don't believe me, but I know what makes good singing, Blaine. Practise, hard work, and dedication are only small parts of it. If you want the people listening to connect to the music,  _you_  have to convince them that  _you_  can, too. If you can't actually do that, you have to be able to pretend so well that they don't question it. At the risk of Kurt yelling at me again, we  _all_  know you're good at hiding your problems and acting like you're happy, but you're awful at admitting how much you hurt. Maybe it's time to give up the act? We all have televisions, Blaine. Everyone knows your life isn't perfect, so what's the problem with admitting that you're not? Is it because you're embarrassed? Because – "  
  
"Rachel," Kurt hisses, scowling at her. Rachel looks a little sheepish but is by no means through.  
  
"I could apologize for that but I won't," She says. "Your refusal to help us now confirms what I've thought about you ever since you started spending time with Quinn Fabray: You can't help the people who need you because you don't want to help yourself."  
  
Blaine is dimly aware of Kurt letting go of his hand and rising to his feet as he starts to light into Rachel, but he cuts him off, quietly.  
  
"You really think I haven't tried to get past everything?" He asks her.   
  
Rachel looks shocked that he even bothered to answer, but manages,  
  
"I think sometimes you probably try, but the very fact that you just admitted you're trying to get past  _everything_  all at once proves that you have no idea how to deal with this effectively."  
  
"And you do?" Blaine counters. "I'm the one who has to deal with all of this, Rachel, not you. You're just a self-absorbed teenager who gets frustrated when things don't go her way and actually thinks she's so smart she's telling me something I haven't heard dozens of times before. I can't just shake this off, okay?"  
  
Rachel's gaze is unflinching.  
  
"I'm  _very_  frustrated things aren't going the way I need them to," she says. "But that's not why I'm saying this to you. You scare me sometimes, Blaine. Especially lately. Each time I talk to you it's like that night you got drunk but now you're not even crying. You're just...empty, and I don't understand why you're doing this to yourself because it doesn't have to be this way."  
  
"How do you know that?" Blaine asks. "How do you know what I should be acting like right now?"  
  
"I don't know how you  _should_  be acting," Rachel says. "But I know you sing, and the first and most important reason a person sings is that it makes them feel  _good_. It doesn't matter how famous or how talented you are, if you aren't singing because you get something out of it, you shouldn't do it. And sometimes when I sing it's all an act, just like it is for you, but sometimes I feel things  _so much_ , singing is the only way to push out those feelings so I can start feeling like  _me_  again. Maybe you can't sing the fun songs right now because there are too many bad things in your head for you to be able to pretend anymore. Maybe it's time to stop pretending."   
  
"And you all want to, what?" Blaine asks. "Sit here and watch to see if I crack?"  
  
"The people in this room are your friends," Rachel says, gently and more sincere than Blaine has ever heard her. "Isn't it better to crack in a room full of people who love you and want to help you instead all alone?"  
  
Blaine stares at her for a few minutes. She makes it sound so easy, like she's not asking him to let go of every shred of control he has that's keeping him together, like she's not asking him to risk falling so far into himself he might never come back again. But he's so tired of feeling blank. All he wants is to feel like he belongs in his own body again. No one is saying anything. Finally Kurt sits back down and rests his hand on Blaine's knee. The contact spurs him into action like it's a starting gun and before he can think about it he's looking at Brad and saying,  
  
"I don't have sheet music."  
  
"Brad knows a lot of songs," Kurt says. "Do you have a song you want to try? You can always ask and see if he can play it."  
  
After hesitating another second or two Blaine forces himself to his feet, walking to the piano as he digs in his pocket for his iPod. He has no idea why he's letting himself be talked into this. It's not that he's worried nothing will happen. He's scared that it will, especially when he opens the Most Played playlist on his iPod and sees which song is staring at him in the number one spot. There's a chance this is going to be an absolute trainwreck because this has been such a long time coming. Still, he shows it to Brad anyhow and asks,  
  
"Do you know any Weezer?"

[[CLICK HERE TO LISTEN TO BLAINE'S SONG WHILE YOU READ - RIGHT-CLICK TO OPEN IN NEW WINDOW (SORRY! I CAN'T MAKE IT WORK AUTOMATICALLY ON THIS SITE)]](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mxSNTvvjDBo)

Brad glances at the song and nods before settling in front of the piano and waiting for Blaine to give him the go-ahead. When it doesn't come he just starts counting down from three on his fingers before beginning to play. Blaine doesn't turn around to face the room right away, just stands there watching Brad play out the intro. His hands are sweating and he feels hot and cold at the same time. This was not a good idea.  
  
But when he has to start singing, it's not as bad as he thought it would be. His voice breaks a little when he starts too quietly but it's mostly clear and controlled. He feels himself relax a little. It's a slow starting song, and Blaine almost feels his mind start to drift away to other things against his will, like what usually happens if he sings without trying to perform for anyone. But this time his thoughts have nowhere to wander to. He's so tired that there's nothing else to focus on or think about besides the words. The low-grade anxiety starts to build up inside of him as the words seem to gain weight and settle in the pit of his stomach.  
  
Blaine pushes away from the piano but isn't paying much attention to the rest of the room as it swims in and out of focus in front of him. It's like singing about the darkness actually made the lights go out, because in this moment he feels completely alone, like he's eight-years-old again, wondering where his mom and dad are, and what they're doing and if they're sorry they sent him away. He can feel how much they don't care about him and it fucking  _hurts_.   
  
They gave him away and left him with a monster who took him away, who told him no one loved him and tore him apart inside, even though Blaine never did anything wrong. He was broken so that he'd stop fighting and accept what was happening to him, what kept happening so many times Blaine couldn't even count all of them for Detective Warren. Quinn wasn't lying that one time she said he'd been turned into a toy. Tom made him less than a person and knowing now that it had only worked because he'd lied to Blaine about everything doesn't help like it usually does. It makes it worse, because it still happened either way, but now it hadn't even happened for a real reason.  
  
He'd been  _alone_  for over half his life. His parents were stolen away from him and replaced by dreams, uncaring and impossible to hold onto. His world became so small that he latched onto something terrible and convinced himself it wasn't as hopeless as it had been so that he wouldn't get lost. Blaine sold his soul to the man who kept him in hell for the chance to pretend he was somewhere else, somewhere somebody loved him, and now he can't stop shaking and the choir room is a blur in front of him.  
  
He's dimly aware of the song ending and someone pulling him into their arms as they lead him to a place to sit, but he can't piece together who it is, too busy trying to fight his way past all the thoughts and feelings racing around his mind and making the tears streak down his face. The arms keep holding him tightly and he feels a hand running up and down his back. Slowly he fades back into reality, slumping down a little in Kurt's arms as the shaking slowly starts to lessen. The room is completely silent. Blaine can't even hear breathing over the sounds of his own shuddering gasping, but he knows that they're all still there. He can feel their eyes on him, watching.  
  
Finally someone, Trent, Blaine thinks, gasps out a thick-sounding "holy shit," launching the room into motion. Wes is the first to his feet and Blaine just manages to catch a glimpse of his normally stoic friend before he feels him sitting down on the empty seat next to him and wrapping his arms around him along with Kurt. Jeff joins in next, and then Thad. Suddenly Blaine is trapped at the centre of the biggest group hug he's ever seen. Even Brad wanders over to pat Blaine a little absently on the head after he's wiped off his glasses. It looks stupid, Blaine knows it  _has_  to look stupid, but at the same time he doesn't care, because he feels safe, because remembering where he used to be makes right now feel that much more real. He couldn't get away from Warblers right now if he tried, but he knows nothing can reach _him_ , either.  
  
Only Rachel remains on the outside, still rooted to her spot on the far side of the couch. She's looking straight at Blaine when he glances in her direction, with an expression of absolute distress written across her features, like now that she's gotten what she was asking for it's too much for her to deal with. She almost looks betrayed, like she never knew Blaine was carrying this inside of him and she's hurt that he kept it from her. Blaine has the horrible fleeting thought that now he knows what expression she'll wear if she ever gets hit by a spouse, but he's not mad at her, not really. It's not her fault that everything about him turns into something ugly and painful, and right now, in the middle of a group of people who care about him and only want to help him, the relief pushes out any room he has for anger.  
  
  
***  
  
If Blaine were to get his way, he would spend the next week huddled in a ball in his room, crying himself sick, but he's quickly learning that his friends at Dalton aren't the sort of friends who can handle the idea of someone suffering alone. Every minute of his day seems to be taken up by the Warblers, who are so determined to be there for him that it's impossible to get away from them. They're so invested in making sure Blaine has someone to talk to every time his emotions start to overwhelm him that sometimes all Blaine wants is to find one place in all of the damned academy that isn't infested with acappella singers who seem to be baffled as to why anyone would want to cry without a friend watching.  
  
Wes and Thad start an intensive rehearsal schedule almost immediately so that he can get "Hold Me" ready in time for sectionals. Blaine knows that Vocal Adrenaline is one of the best show choirs in America, but he has his doubts that the constant practise is as much about where they place in competition as it is an excuse to monitor how he's feeling at any given time.  
  
"That's really good, Blaine," Thad says one time not long after they've started, grinning hugely. "You didn't lose your voice at the start of the second verse this time. I hope it's because you're working through your issues instead of pretending they aren't there like before. Do you need to talk about your feelings now?"  
  
Blaine declines the offer as politely as he can, but he's not mad about it. Thad is so earnest and excited at the idea of helping Blaine feel better just for Blaine's sake; it's hard to hold it against him, even though he knows he'll never take him up on the offer. He  _does_  talk to Wes a few times, one night in particular when he's freaking out about a conversation his parents had with him earlier in the day. Wes has just been teaching Blaine a few breathing techniques to help him from getting pitchy during the bridge when he asks, like he always does, if there's anything Blaine wants to talk about, tonight adding,  
  
"You seem a little more distracted than usual."  
  
Blaine almost tells him nothing is wrong, but Kurt is holed away in his room working on a paper for a class Blaine isn't qualified to take yet, unaware that there's a problem, which is how Blaine wants to keep it. Kurt doesn't complain about it, but Blaine knows how hard he works to keep his grades up so he can stay at Dalton on the scholarships and not have to force his father to work any harder than he already does. It's hard to make good grades when you're constantly helping somebody else fight their way through mountains of personal problems. Blaine knows that talking about his problems won't help solve them in the way he wants them solved, and that Wes might be the most uptight person in all of Dalton, probably unable to give spontaneous reassurance unless he has a manual in front of him, but the weird claustrophobic sensation that accompanied his latest meltdown is creeping back in and with everything still so raw inside him from the last time, he doesn't want to risk another episode like what happened before. He doesn't have the energy to deal with something like that twice.  
  
"My parents told me that the prosecution lawyer thinks I'm going to have to testify in front of the guy who took me," he says.  
  
Wes's eyes get wide and he sits down beside Blaine on the piano seat hard.  
  
"Why?" he asks.  
  
Blaine shrugs.  
  
"The only way they can convict him on even half of what he's charged with is if I tell them about it. Most of the evidence is only from when he took us. Everything else they have to hear about from me."  
  
"But it's still not fair that they make you talk about it in front of everyone," Wes says.  
  
"I knew that would happen anyway," Blaine says. "One of the very first things they told us is they'd need me to testify. Even Stevie might have to, but if he does they'll probably let him do it in another room so he doesn't have to see Brenner again. Because he's so little they think seeing him again would be too hard. I wanted to know if I could do the same thing, but apparently the lawyer was talking to my dad again this weekend and no one thinks a judge will go for it, because I'm so much older. They prefer keeping you in the same room as the jury or something, I don't know, but the main thing is I have to talk to room full of people and reporters who get to hear about all the things he used to do to me and I have to stare at the him the whole time. He had me for almost nine years. It's not going to be a quick interview."  
  
Wes purses his lips together and is quiet for a moment before saying, "My dad's a lawyer. I could ask him about it tonight, but you're probably right, because I heard him mention a while ago that the guy prosecuting your case was really good. But maybe the judge will let you work something out, anyhow? And at least you might get a little bit of privacy when it does go to trial. With the kind of a case this is, I'm sure there's no way they wouldn't put gag orders on the media. They do it with a lot of cases where the victims are kids."  
  
"Maybe," Blaine says. He's quiet for a moment before adding, "Thank you for not offering to sing me anything."  
  
Wes sniffs a little and says, "Well, you never seem too appreciative all the other times we offer, so I thought it might not be your thing."  
  
"It's really not," Blaine agrees.  
  
Wes turns in his spot a little and looks at him like he's assessing a math problem before asking,  
  
"Are hugs your thing? Because I feel like now might be a good time to offer one."  
  
Blaine sighs a little, not sure if he wants to laugh or cry. He settles for a little of both at the same time as he says,  
  
"Go ahead. One arm only though."  
  
"That was the plan," Wes says as he slings his arm across Blaine's shoulders and pulls him a little closer. Blaine doesn't exactly lean in, but he lets Wes keep his arm where it is and doesn't pull away as he stares at the doors on the other side of the room, blinking rapidly and furtively wiping his nose with the sleeve of his blazer. Wes doesn't even comment on Blaine's lack of respect for the Dalton uniform, other than helpfully pointing out,  
  
"You know, the blazers have a breast pocket where you can keep a nicely folded handkerchief. I like using Dalton colours for mine. I find it really brightens the whole jacket up a lot in addition to being practical."  
  
Blaine laughs again and sees Wes smile a little out of the corner of his eye, too, holding onto Blaine's arm a little tighter.  
  
While Wes favours the ask-then-hug approach when dealing with Blaine, not everyone ascribes to the same school of thought when it comes to physical contact. Nick seems to be intent on clapping Blaine on the shoulder each time they see each other, and smiling encouragingly as he asks how Blaine is doing since the last time they spoke. And that's _every_  time they see each other, even when they've been assigned to different work groups in class and have spent less than 20 minutes on other sides of the room. Like clockwork, Nick repeats the same almost-compulsive ritual when he's back in front of Blaine:  
  
Shoulder-clap. "Hi! How are you and how have you been? Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" Smaller shoulder-clap. Smaller shoulder-clap. Silence that would be uncomfortable except for the enormous, unassuming, completely authentic grin spreading across his co-Warbler's features, like the awkwardness of his actions  _still_  hasn't occurred to him.  
  
Jeff can't see him without rushing into his space and giving him a hug instead of saying hello like a normal, fully sane person. Trent can't leave without giving him a long hug goodbye.  
  
"Finn would never believe this," Kurt says, laughing one day at the end of another long Warbler practise, as has been mandated by Rachel Berry, who now seems to be their unofficial-official consultant for sectionals. "The guys at McKinley show affection by punching you hard enough to bruise, even when they're being nice."  
  
"I remember," Blaine says over Trent's shoulder as he pats him amiably on the back. "One time after we started hanging out, Puck told me to bring extra clothes to school the next day, because he had decided we were 'bros' and was going to toss me into the dumpster to celebrate. He said he felt bad for doing it to you for so long so he decided the best way to make up for it was to throw all of his other guy friends into garbage containers, too. So you wouldn't feel different."  
  
"Your public school friends are the reason my parents vowed to always send me to private schools," Trent comments, still hugging. "My mother used to tell me that if I was going to learn a pointless activity, it would be which fork is the proper one to eat salad with, not communication through barbarism."  
  
"Good for her!" Kurt smiles, as he gently pries Trent away and grabs Blaine by the hand, waving his goodbyes as they walk off in the other direction.  
  
Barbaric customs of the public school system notwithstanding, Blaine can't exactly pretend that the Warblers are his only friends in the world, either. The constant interaction that began after his fight with Kurt doesn't ease up at all after Rachel sees him break down at the audition. Sam is one of the first to worm his way into Blaine's home to check up on him after hearing the story from Rachel, calling up one Saturday to trick Blaine into offering up an invitation.  
  
"Should you really be spending your energy worrying about me when you've got your brother to deal with?" Blaine asks.  
  
"Stevie's doing pretty good at the moment, actually," Sam says. "I think he's been working through things faster than you. Rachel thinks it's because he hasn't had as much practise lying to himself as you have."  
  
"Rachel would think that," Blaine says. "She was having a great time at practise, telling me all about my problems."  
  
"It's almost becoming her new thing," Sam says, confidentially. "Like, the other day she was talking to Puck about his pool cleaning business and asking why he thinks he needs to sell himself to find validation or something like that. Finn says she's been making him steal Kurt's armchair psychology books from the house while Kurt's at Dalton during the week, too. Oh... Um, don't tell him that. I promised that would die with me."  
  
"So why are you calling?" Blaine asks. "No offense, but we're not really the kinds of friends who call to catch up, Sam."  
  
"Right," Sam says. "About that Rachel thing. Stevie heard her the other day when we were trying to keep her from getting close enough to give him a motivational speech, when she was talking about how upset you got in the choir room. He's sort of been fixating on you all week. Keeps asking if he can come visit, so Rachel volunteered to drive us up there today so he could see you. But I wasn't about to do that without asking first."  
  
"Oh," Blaine says, trying to think of a polite way to turn down the offer. He's still so tired and things have gotten so confused in his head again since things fell apart in the choir room, he's not sure if he can handle seeing people he feels he has to be strong for, not without rebuilding some of his walls. But then Sam says,  
  
"It's okay, you know. If you don't want to see him right now? We'll understand."  
  
"I want to see him," Blaine says, because if he's being honest with himself, most days he still thinks Stevie would be a better sibling than Cynthia. His voice shakes a little when he continues, "I just don't want him to see me like this."  
  
"You don't have to be perfect for him," Sam says, gently. "We always tell him this is hard for you, too. That he's not the only person who's had something awful happen to him and that it's normal to not be able to pretend like everything's okay. He's not expecting you to be fine. He knows better."  
  
"I don't want to scare him," Blaine says, quietly. "I'm all over the place right now."  
  
"I'd rather him see you like this than the way you were acting a couple weeks ago," Sam says. "What's happening to you isn't fun for anyone to see, but the way you were acting before was just scary. I'd see you out shopping with Kurt and Mercedes and I wasn't even brave enough to go up and say hi to you guys. I was positive that any day I'd be have to explain to Stevie what suicide is."  
  
"I was that bad?" Blaine asks.   
  
"I don't know," Sam says. "Maybe not, but you  _looked_  like you had already checked out."  
  
In the end they come over to visit late in the afternoon. Stevie makes a beeline for Blaine and immediately starts talking his ear off about a book they've been reading in class at school, while Sam waves shyly at the adults and tries to engage in small talk. Rachel makes herself at home and dumps her things onto the dining room table before taking a seat.  
  
"College applications," she smiles when she notices Blaine staring.  
  
"I thought you already applied to NYADA with Kurt," Blaine says.  
  
Rachel's face clouds over for a minute before she smiles even wider and says,  
  
"Things change, Blaine. I had to share the lead in  _West Side Story_  this year with Mercedes, and when I tried to rectify that glaring hole in my extracurriculars by running for student body president, I got beaten by a girl who I admire and respect very much, but still thinks that people with accents have magical powers. I need to be open to the possibility that my calling doesn't lie in the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts."  
  
"Where are you applying instead?" He asks. "Julliard? Tisch?"  
  
Rachel only shrugs noncommittally, and looks a little like her thoughts are racing ahead too fast to keep up with as she unsuccessfully tries to lean forward enough to block her application from view and maintain her perfect posture. Blaine decides it's not worth it and lets her have her space.   
  
By the time Kurt shows up for the evening, Cynthia has determined that so many people in the house at one time constitutes a party and convinces their parents to order in pizza. Blaine watches in amusement after it arrives and his little sister looks on in abject horror as Rachel tries to encourage her to try some of her vegan pizza and extolls the benefits of giving up bacon to a little girl who is still trying to come to terms with the fact that it's not its own food group yet. He can almost see Quinn's coolness increasing the longer Rachel talks.  
  
The evening is a surprisingly pleasant one, all things considered. Stevie is happy enough, and the flurry of commotion around him is distracting enough to keep Blaine's mind off how uneasy he feels. It's not until he's sitting on the couch after dinner, listening to Kurt catch up with Sam and Rachel about what's been happening at McKinley that Blaine starts to feel the dull ache start to make itself known again. He stays quiet about it, not wanting to make yet another evening at his parent's house all about him, until Stevie abandons whatever game Cynthia is trying to force him into playing with her to sit down next to him and lean into his side.  
  
Neither of them say anything for a while, but the longer Stevie sits there the tighter Blaine's chest feels, because suddenly all he can think about is how fucking messed up everything is for them from here on out. His eyes start tearing up and his throat hurts from trying to hold everything back for too long, and this is why he didn't want Stevie to come over. His emotions are suddenly too hard to control when he's not alone. Having someone who he feels directly responsible for letting down sitting beside him amplifies everything until Blaine doesn't know if he'll be able to take it.  
  
"Are you going to cry?" Stevie asks, looking up at him almost appraisingly. "You're breathing funny."  
  
Blaine doesn't look at anyone, but he can feel the room go silent and the focus turns on him and what he's doing.  
  
"Sorry," Blaine says, as he tries to calm the unsteady intake of air. "I'm not going to cry."  
  
His credibility is instantly shattered as soon as he starts speaking though, and the first couple tears roll down his face before he can brush them away.  
  
"Sorry," he mutters again.  
  
"It's okay," Stevie says, leaning back against him. "I don't mind. Sometimes I cry, too. Everyone needs to cry so everyone's allowed to cry sometimes. Dr. Hong said it makes you feel better after."  
  
"I don't feel better yet," Blaine says.  
  
"You haven't been doing it long enough yet," Stevie tells him, unconcerned. "Can we watch a movie?"  
  
It takes a while before they find something that Stevie and Cynthia both want to watch, but eventually something gets turned on, and they start watching. Stevie stays where he is, and soon Kurt sits down on Blaine's other side and puts an arm across his back. Blaine doesn't stop crying but no one seems to feel the need to make him talk about it. Occasionally Kurt moves his hand up to Blaine's hair and runs a hand through it if Blaine starts to look like the tears might start falling any faster, but that's the only acknowledgment anyone gives that anything is out of the ordinary. No one's ignoring him, exactly. They're just letting him do what he needs to do. By the time the credits roll and the Evanses and Rachel leave he's done for the time being, but the reprieve isn't one that lasts. He falls asleep stretched out on the couch with his head in Kurt's lap, tears still running silently down his face. He's not sure, but he thinks when he wakes up hours later to Kurt's voice as he apologises to his father for sleeping past his curfew, he might finally be beginning to feel a little lighter.

***

"God I'm glad you're not a zombie now," Quinn greets as she pushes past Blaine into his room.  
  
"And I'm glad your hair isn't pink anymore," Blaine says, as he turns around to follow her in and push the door shut just slightly. He doesn't close it the entire way, not ready to do anything that might encourage her to stay long.   
  
He had been planning on going downstairs to watch something embarrassingly immature with Cynthia until Kurt called to say he was finished his emergency shift at the garage where he was covering for a sick mechanic, but he's not prepared to deal with Quinn's scorn when she discovers watching cartoons with his sister has become a regular thing. Her hair might be back to its perfect little rich girl blonde, but she's hardly the pleasant, polite,  _do unto others_  girl she always pretended to be last year, either. She might keep up the happy, back-on-her-feet attitude for most people these days, but for Blaine she seems perfectly happy to drop the act.  
  
Blaine is happy enough to give her the opportunity to be honest with herself every now and then, because he knows how draining it can be to pretend everything is perfect when it's not, but the upshot is that these days it's almost maddening just to say hello to her, because now that he's the only person she doesn't lie to, the conversation inevitably turns towards Beth and how much Quinn wants her back. Having Shelby teach at McKinley isn't helping things, either.   
  
The longer Quinn is close to her daughter the worse she becomes, and the crazier her plotting gets. There had been a brief window of time when Puck, likely harbouring dreams of a forming a big happy family for Beth, had been willing to placate Quinn and listen to her plans, probably because he thought she would get past it. Even he's given up on her now, unable to handle the intensity of her campaign to destroy Shelby's life and retrieve her daughter. One time when he's over visiting Blaine, he actually climbs out a window when he sees her car pull up in the driveway.  
  
"Tell her I'm not here and that you're borrowing my truck," he hisses before making a break for the back alley. Blaine has no idea how he manages to get back to Lima, but he's very obviously on his own when it comes to Quinn, and now that he's slowly losing some of the tunnel vision that up until now has only let him focus on his own problems, it's getting harder and harder to listen to the things she says without wanting to slap her.  
  
Proving his point perfectly, Quinn barely takes the time to throw her coat on the bed before she turns around and triumphantly announces,  
  
"It's official! Shelby is an unfit mother. I just came from her house to make sure everything was properly set up."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Blaine asks, already sorry that he's going to have to hear an answer.  
  
"I've planted some things in her house," Quinn says, smiling. "Baby Botox, books about Satanism, pornography, that sort of thing. I'm going to call Child Protective Services right now so they can take Beth away and give her to her  _real_ mother."  
  
"She's with her real mother right now," Blaine says.   
  
It's nothing he hasn't told her before, but maybe it carries more weight when he is able to say it when he's not drowning in his own problems, because for a moment Quinn looks completely betrayed before she pulls herself together enough to snarl,  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
Blaine just sighs and looks at her a little helplessly before saying,  
  
"Fine, you want to do this that way? You're a menace right now, Quinn. I'm saying that out of love, but it's true. It's like you've lost all grasp of reality. Satanism and pornography? Really? That's not proof of unfit parenting, it's proof you were raised in a bubble of Christian moral panic. And do you really think framing the lady who adopted your daughter is going to guarantee you get her back and she's not just going to get adopted out again? She's not your kid anymore, Quinn. It doesn't work like that."   
  
Quinn opens her mouth, and Blaine thinks maybe she's going to try to defend her actions even now, but she never gets a chance before they're both interrupted his mother's voice coming from his doorway,  
  
"You're making false accusations to the authorities because you think it will get you your daughter back?"  
  
They both look over and see her standing there with Blaine's book bag in her hands and a horrified expression on her face.  
  
"Not yet," Blaine clarifies. "She was going to after she leaves."  
  
"Don't you dare," his mom says, and Blaine has never seen her look at anyone the way she's looking at Quinn right now, like there's a monster in his bedroom instead of a person. Even Quinn looks a little intimidated, but she purses her lips together and gets a determined look on her face before saying,  
  
"I never had a chance to be a mother. Don't you get that? I could have been the best thing that's ever happened to her and Shelby  _stole_  her before I had that chance. I've been working hard to get it together and be a good enough person to be Beth's mom, and now I'm ready. You both know I am. Look at me compared to a month ago. I don't drink or smoke now, and I've changed my hair back. I helped Mr. Schue keep the Glee club together when the girls wanted to join Shelby's group. I'm reliable and I take care of things. I deserve Beth."  
  
"You've  _regressed_  since last month," Mom snaps, and Blaine has never heard her mad like this before. "Last month I felt sorry for you, because you were a sad screwed-up little girl who wasted her life dreaming about things that she could never have. Now you actually think your dreams are going to become reality. You're delusional, Quinn."  
  
It's like Blaine isn't in the room with them anymore. Quinn is staring at his mother like she's been stabbed and his mother is the one holding the knife. His mother is staring at Quinn with an almost identical expression. Blaine wishes there was a way to run away and hide without either of them noticing, but the doorway is effectively blocked by his mother, and really, if anyone should be leaving it's the two people who are having a fight in someone else's bedroom.  
  
"I thought of all people that  _you_  would understand what this is like," Quinn says, her voice shaky. "If anyone knows how much it hurts to have your kids grow up while you can't watch, it's you. Beth needs her mother, just like Blaine needed his. If you had a way to get him back from that man years ago, wouldn't you have taken it? You would have saved him from so much pain."  
  
There's a long pause. Blaine feels like someone has physically hit him.  
  
"You did  _not_  just say that," His mother finally says, her anger so intense Blaine sees tears start to fall from her eyes. "Don't you dare compare what happened to my son with what happened to your daughter. Blaine is your  _friend_ , Quinn, and it makes me ill to think that you have been sitting here day after day using what happened to him to justify your little fantasy about why every child needs their mother. Beth is going to have a perfect life whether you're in it or not, because Shelby didn't just walk up and take her away from you one day when you lost sight of her. You  _chose_  her to be Beth's mother when you didn't want the responsibility. My son grew up with a man who beat him and raped him and treated him like a thing before he treated him like a person. The first few months he was back home, sometimes I'd catch him staring at me, like he couldn't understand the concept of a parent that loved him and didn't hurt him. Beth has been officially recognized as the daughter of a wonderful woman who loves her so much that she's sacrificing her own personal comfort and dreams to try to raise her in an environment where she can see how much three completely different people love her and care for her more than anything else on the planet. Or at least, they  _should_  love her more than anything."  
  
Quinn is crying openly now and tries to find the words to defend herself but the most she can manage is a pitiful "I'm not" before Mom cuts her off again.  
  
"I try to give you space when you're in my house, Quinn, because I understand that you're hurting and I know how much Blaine likes you. Up until now I've been able to respect his choice to be friends with you because even though you are rude and self-destructive, I've never seen you try to cross that line where you start to hurt the people around you. But if you even  _think_  about calling CPS once you've left this house, I'll report you and tell anyone who listens to me that you should be brought up on every charge that they can possibly hit you with. Giving birth to her doesn't make her yours. A real mother loves her children because they're her children, not because they love her back without questioning why. If you really want someone to think you're worth their time, try not to be such a horrible human being and failing that, look into buying a goldfish."  
  
She catches herself for a minute and takes a deep breath, obviously trying to get herself under control again before she says,  
  
"I think you should leave now, Quinn."  
  
Blaine can't tear his eyes away from her. He didn't even know this side of his mother existed. This tiny angry woman couldn't be further removed from the jokingly optimistic, sunny woman he's been living with since he's come back home. She's so mad that the hand still holding his book bag is trembling violently. Finally a chocked sound from Quinn pulls his attention away from her and in the other direction.  
  
Quinn is still crying, harder now than she had been before, her pretty, practical, good-little-Christian-girl makeup ruined as she determinedly gathers her things into her arms, her face a portrait of humiliation and rage. She's never responded like this when Blaine has told her off before, but then, it's not  _Blaine_  she refuses to make eye contact with as she takes off running down the stairs. He can hear his dad try to call to her as the front door slams open and closed.  
  
Mom sinks into the chair slowly, her head in her hands.  
  
"What was  _that_?" Blaine asks.  
  
"I should be sorry," his mom says. "But I'm not. I do  _not_  like that girl. She's not a good person, Blaine."  
  
"But she's not a  _bad_  person, either," Blaine says, not even sure why he's defending her when he agrees with so much of what his mom said.  
  
"She wants to steal someone's baby," Mom says, shortly. "I'm sorry, but in my mind, it doesn't get much worse than that."  
  
"Mom, look at me," Blaine says, bluntly. "Look at how fucked up I am. I'm pretty sure there are people in the world  _a lot_ worse than Quinn."  
  
His mom looks ill as she turns his words over in her head before shaking herself a little and saying,  
  
"How does a girl become so dysfunctional she actively tries to steal a baby? And how is she able to hide that side of herself from so many people so they don't notice?"  
  
"I don't think it was an overnight process," Blaine offers. "And I think Quinn's always been really good at acting like someone she isn't. From the things she's told me, she's had a lot of makeovers over the years. She knows how to get what she wants by changing who she is."  
  
"'What she wants,'" his mother repeats, derisively putting her hands back up to her face. "You mean 'a baby'?"  
  
"No," Blaine says. "You said it before. She doesn't want a baby, she just wants someone. Quinn would be a terrible mother. One day she'd figure out that Beth won't think she's perfect forever, and then she'd run out and get pregnant again so there'd be someone else who did. She doesn't take rejection well, but sometimes I think it's the only thing she understands."  
  
It's strange that despite the shock and discomfort he feels from seeing his mother lose control the way she just did, he also likes that he suddenly feels he can talk to her like she's an equal, like he has a  _right_  to tell her his opinion about things, because apparently she doesn't have every answer.  
  
There's a long pause, then he hears a drawn out, hissed " _Fuck_ " come from behind his mother's hands which makes him laugh a little.  
  
"I was too hard on her," she says, her hands dropping into her lap in defeat. "She just hit such a raw nerve when I heard what she was saying. I know I don't show it to you, and maybe I do too good a job at keeping my feelings hidden from you, but every morning when I wake up it still hurts so fucking  _much_  that I lost you, even though you came back. I missed you so much, Blaine, and I'll never get your childhood back. Hearing her sounding so proud that she was trying to put another woman through that kind of pain?"  
  
She trails off, and Blaine doesn't know what to tell her, so he reaches out and briefly squeezes her shoulder. He glances out the window and comments,  
  
"Her car is still here. I should go make sure she's not crying in a ball in the driver's seat."  
  
Mom nods but makes no move to get up and follow him. When he looks at her questioningly, she shrugs helplessly.  
  
"Anything I say to her right now will be the opposite of damage control," she says, and Blaine notices how tensely she's still holding herself, so he nods and hurries off downstairs by himself, pausing long enough to grab his shoes in the doorway so he can shove them on when he hits the porch. But when he gets outside, there are voices just beyond the door to his left and he stops dead in his tracks.  
  
Quinn is full-out sobbing like he's never heard her before, but even more jarringly, the soothing voice trying to calm her down belongs to his  _father_. Blaine turns to look and drops his shoes in shock, earning him a distracted glare from his father, even though Blaine doesn't see how he could possibly be held responsible for his actions. Quinn and his father are sitting side-by-side on the porch bench as Quinn heaves out gut-wrenching sobs into his shoulder. It's like an episode of  _The Twilight Zone_.  
  
Dad has an arm wrapped around Quinn and is gently rubbing her arm as the disjointed, near-incoherent words come pouring out of her. Blaine can't make them all out, but he hears enough to figure out this isn't all about Beth: "Daddy" and "she didn't care" and "doesn't see" and "hate" and "scared" and "never enough." Dad is obviously picking up more of it than Blaine is, because he seems to be able to answer back, too quietly for Blaine to hear, but definitely in response to Quinn's words, indicating an actual conversation instead of meaningless reassurance.  
  
Blaine stands watching as his feet grow steadily colder until finally the door opens again and Cynthia pokes her head out to demand,  
  
"What's going on?  _Blaine_ , you promised if I left you and Kurt alone yesterday when you were making out that today we'd watch – "  
  
Blaine clamps a hand over her mouth and steers her back inside before she can finish, leaving his shoes where they've fallen. People always accuse him of being brave or whatever, but he will flee the country before he lets Quinn know he watches  _My Little Pony_  with his sister. On DVD, no less. He convinces Cynthia that it will be cooler to watch upstairs on the TV in her room, just in case Quinn and Dad get too cold to stay on the porch.  
  
"Why was Quinn sad?" Cynthia asks while Blaine sets up the DVD player.  
  
"Mom yelled at her," Blaine says. "She deserved it, though."  
  
He hesitates a little before asking,  
  
"Which is weirder to you: Quinn crying or Dad being the one to make her feel better?"  
  
"Quinn crying," Cynthia says quickly. "But not that Mom was the one who made her cry. Dad's nicer than Mom is. People always talk to him when they're sad. When you're sad Dad can make you feel better than ice cream. I asked him how once and he told me he's magic. He lies, but he's still nicer than Mom."  
  
"So he just can't talk be bothered to talk to me?" Blaine asks a little bitterly. "Everyone else on the planet he manages to fix, but when it's me it's suddenly too much effort?"  
  
Cynthia shrugs, still too young to get that sometimes a question doesn't have to be answered, when she says,   
  
"Probably. You're pretty weird, Blaine. I always thought you would be cooler when you came back, but now that you're here you spend most of your time trying to get away from us and looking at Dad like you think he's going to start shouting."  
  
"Wow," Blaine says. "Sorry I let you down, I guess."  
  
"I forgive you," Cynthia says politely, because she pulled someone's hair at recess last week and has spent her subsequent detentions being taught about manners. "You're not all bad anymore. You watch a lot of TV with me, which is nice. And you met Quinn first, which is very good because I got to meet her and she's my best friend even if her hair is boring now. And Mom shouts less now that you're back, too, which is the best thing about you."  
  
They're holed up in the bedroom for a few hours before Dad sticks his head in and casually mentions that he's driving Quinn home and Mom will be following behind so that he can get back once Quinn's been safely dropped off. Seeing him standing there talking about helping someone who isn't him like it's the easiest thing in the world sends a spike of resentment through him at first, but then he thinks about how beside herself Quinn was and can't bring himself to begrudge her the support. He nods his understanding and tells them to drive safe, trying not to let himself feel too rattled when the door shuts, leaving him behind.  
  
***  
  
All things considered, Blaine thinks it should be a positive sign that Quinn's meltdown (and his subsequent realization that he still doesn't know his parents at all) hasn't interfered with how badly he's started to want a second chance with Kurt again. The more time that passes, the more he finds he's able to separate his desire for Kurt from all the bad and uncertain things in his day-to-day life. When he thinks about doing things with Kurt, it feels different than before, when he used to crave intimacy as a way of ensuring he's still able to earn his place in Kurt's heart. Now he finds himself staring at Kurt, almost overwhelmed by how much he wants to get closer to him, and take their relationship to a different level, because he doesn't want to miss out on any experience if it's one he can share with Kurt. It opens up an entirely new perspective on sex for him that he finds both frightening and exhilarating.  
  
Unfortunately, Kurt doesn't seem to share these feelings, and has become more resistant than ever to any of the subtle hints and touches that are directed towards him. Not a single encounter happens these days that doesn't end without Kurt putting the brakes on everything, pulling back when Blaine holds him a little too closely as they kiss, softly saying, "No" if Blaine tries to move his hand too far down his hips or back. The refusals always seem to be accompanied by equal parts arousal and fear tangled up in each other and reflected in Kurt's eyes. Blaine starts to worry about what will happen to them if he's created a rift that can't be fixed.  
  
"You seem distracted," Dr. Hong comments halfway through their session. "Are you sure you're we're talking about everything you would like to talk about?"  
  
Blaine shrugs and is quiet for a moment before admitting,  
  
"I would like to talk to you about something, but I don't really want to talk to you like this about it."  
  
"I don't understand what you mean by that," Dr. Hong says.  
  
"Okay," Blaine says, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. "If I tell you what's bothering me, can you not be a professional about it? Like, can you not answer my question by asking me 20? Can you just give me some advice? Because I have a problem and you're the only person who won't think it's weird if I ask."  
  
"I can't really promise to do that without knowing what the question is," Dr. Hong says.  
  
"I can't tell you anything without you promising first," Blaine says. "Because if you don't agree you'll use what I say against me and end up asking questions anyhow. That's just going to make me frustrated."  
  
Dr. Hong smiles at him a little before she says,  
  
"How about we compromise? You ask your weird question, and if I think I need to, I'll ask you a lot of deep, soul-searching questions about it, but only if I have to know the answers before I know what advice I should be giving you."  
  
"Okay," Blaine says slowly. "But you can't crap out and tell me that the only person who can answer my question is me or something stupid like that when I tell you. I need  _advice_ , that's why I'm asking."  
  
"Go ahead," says Dr. Hong.  
  
"How do I make my boyfriend believe I want to have sex with him? Like, the sooner the better?"  
  
"You're right," Dr. Hong says. "That's a weird question to be asking. I'm assuming this is an issue for the two of you because of what happened the last time you tried to initiate sex?"  
  
"Well, not the  _last_  time I tried," Blaine says. "I've been trying again lately, now that it feels like everything has gotten better, but he's even more sensitive about it now than he was before."  
  
"Because of how you approached it the one time when you became so aggressive about it?"  
  
"Yes," Blaine sighs a little, because she looks so smug right now it makes him want to swear at her a little. "Because of the one time I came on to him for all the wrong reasons and got called on it. Are you happy now?"  
  
"A little," she says. "I'm happy because that story really makes me like your boyfriend."  
  
"But things are different now," Blaine insists. "Before everyone else was right and I wasn't in the right place for it to be okay, but I've gotten so much better."  
  
"Is that why you want to have sex with him?" Dr. Hong asks. "To prove that you've gotten better?"  
  
Blaine bristles a little.  
  
"No," he says, trying hard not to be offended. "This has nothing to do with how I feel about myself. It's about how I feel about Kurt."  
  
"How do you feel about him?"   
  
"I love him."  
  
"Do you want to have sex with him to prove that to him or yourself?"  
  
"These are the sorts of questions I didn't want to have to answer instead of getting real advice," Blaine says.  
  
"The advice is coming," Dr. Hong promises. "I need to ask to decide what the advice is going to be."  
  
"Fine," Blaine says. "I don't want to prove anything to anyone. I love my boyfriend and I want to have sex with him. That's all."  
  
"What's sex?" Dr. Hong asks.  
  
"Are you kidding me right now?" Blaine says, and Dr. Hong laughs a little bit.  
  
"Seriously," she says. "You keep saying that you want to have sex with him. What does that mean exactly? In your opinion, what do you think sex is?"  
  
"I hate you," Blaine says, feeling his face heat up. He's not used to talking with her about sex like this, not when it's about having it with someone he has real feelings for. It's more embarrassing than he expected it to be.  
  
"Sex is... sex. I don't know. I want to be close to him. I've never... done anything with anybody to get closer to them. I've had sex so people stay happy with me, or so I feel like I've earned the right to be with them, but I've never had it to connect with someone before. I want the first person I do that with to be him."  
  
"You can get close to someone without having sex, you know," Dr. Hong says. "A lot of people gain that level of intimacy without ever sleeping with each other at all."  
  
"Yeah," Blaine says, a little slowly, his face getting even redder. "But what if I  _want_  to?"  
  
"If you both want to, that's a good thing," Dr. Hong says. "It's hard to give you advice about this because there are no real rules for how it has to happen, Blaine. But if you want to have sex with your boyfriend, and he wants to have sex with you, the best way you can make that happen is to talk to him about it."  
  
"Obviously," Blaine says, frustrated. "But what do I say to make him believe me?"  
  
"Convince him you've thought this through and aren't trying to make decisions based on something unhealthy," she says. "Which brings me back to my other question, what exactly do you think sex is?"  
  
Blaine stares at her silently for a long time before admitting,  
  
"I don't think I understand what you want me to say."  
  
"It's not about what I want you to say, Blaine," Dr. Hong says. "There's no wrong answer. Sex means different things for a lot of people. A lot of people forget that, but if you want proof of it, look at a few sample populations and ask them what they think of as the act that lost them their virginity."  
  
"It's when someone sticks their penis in you," Blaine says, bluntly. "How is that up for debate?"  
  
"Because I lied when I said there was no wrong answer," Dr. Hong says, blithely. "That was sort of the wrong answer, Blaine. Or it was only a small part of the answer. What about lesbians? Do they never have sex with each other because they don't have the proper sex organs? And what's the difference between oral, vaginal, or anal sex? Is there a difference?"  
  
"Oh," Blaine says. "That didn't occur to me."  
  
"I'll be honest with you, Blaine," Dr. Hong says. "A lot of the kids I see have problems when they start having the wrong kind of sex at the wrong time, and they usually do it because they don't realize that their options  _are_  options and not just foreplay. To me Kurt seems like a very cautious person, whether he thinks about sex a lot or not, and the impression I get is that he'll be very uneasy about doing anything with you unless he knows you're not getting in over your head. He'll probably feel better if he knows he's not being pushed past  _his_  limits, either. I know you care about your boyfriend very much, so he needs to be as comfortable with all of this as you are. Think really carefully before you ask him about it, and be ready to talk to him about what you want and what you don't want in your sex life. Think about your limits and the areas in your past that you still have issues with. Don't be upset if there's something you just don't want to do again, or if there's anything you're interested in but don't want to do yet. Kurt will have parameters, too. You need to know what those are, and why he has them. Kurt will know you're really okay with it if you can show him that you're not making decisions based out of fear or habit."  
  
It sounds like it all makes sense, but it all seems so complicated, too.  
  
"A lot of teenagers just start sleeping together and they're fine," he says, looking at Dr. Hong suspiciously. "This sort of feels like you're giving me homework to trick me into getting better faster."  
  
Dr. Hong actually rolls her eyes at that one. He doesn't entirely blame her.  
  
"Yes, Blaine," she says. "That's it. I'm tricking you into getting better. Look, what I'm telling you now is the stuff that every healthy couple figures out as they develop their sex lives with each other, anyhow. Some couples talk about it, some sort it out as they go along, but every couple in non-destructive partnerships knows and respects the boundaries that are there. If anything, the long list of pre-requisites I just gave you is going to give you an advantage over all those other teenage couples out there who just start sleeping together right away. Benefit from my wisdom and just take my word on it, okay?"  
  
"Fine," Blaine mutters. "Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome," Dr. Hong says. "Now do you want to go back to talking about the trial or do you have any other questions about this?"  
  
Blaine shouldn't be this difficult, especially after she's been so helpful, but sometimes she's so unflappable he can't help himself. He needs to push to see if anything happens.  
  
"What will it mean for the future of our relationship if we fuck each other's brains out and never need to resort to the reach-around?" He asks, trying not to smirk at her. "Are we destined to be together forever or are we just horny teenagers with trigger-finger orgasms?"  
  
Dr. Hong doesn't even blink when she answers,  
  
"I don't know if I'm qualified to give you an answer for that, Blaine, but if you're very worried about it, I've heard the experts on Yahoo Answers can be very informative and reliable when it comes to questions about reach-arounds."  
  
Some days Blaine is really glad that his parents made him keep going to therapy.  
  
***  
  
Blaine doesn't want to spend much time thinking about what he wants in his relationship with Kurt without giving Kurt a chance to do the same, but it still takes him a couple of days to get up enough courage to mention it to him, so he can't help that he already has given it plenty of thought before they talk about it as a couple. In the end, this probably works out for the best, anyhow.  
  
They're in Blaine's room at home, looking at some fashion blog Kurt is way too into. Blaine doesn't understand the draw at all, but he loves seeing how excited Kurt gets about what people are wearing, so he just watches on in silence until the words come out of his mouth almost unbidden.  
  
"If I told you I thought we should be having sex with each other, what would you say?"  
  
Kurt stares at him incredulously for a minute before he manages,  
  
"I'd ask what that has to do with the Louis Vuitton shoes I was just showing you."  
  
"Seriously though," Blaine says, feeling his face heat up a little, because he really is bringing this up out of nowhere. "If I was ready for it, would you be?"  
  
"I don't know," Kurt falters. He's starting to look worried, so Blaine leans over and kisses him softly before saying,  
  
"Don't worry. I'm not going to throw myself on you like before or anything. I don't want our first time to be like that, either. But I want us to  _have_  a first time. I'm not broken or scared of sex or anything like that, so why should we act like I am?"  
  
Kurt doesn't look convinced.  
  
"You really freaked me out the last time," he says. "I still don't think you've realized how upsetting it was to see you like that."  
  
"Dr. Hong told me that I have a poor concept of boundaries," Blaine admits. "It was all we talked about for weeks. That doesn't mean I didn't want to sleep with you when I did it, though. I just didn't know what I wanted and I sprang it on you. I'm not saying we need to strip down right now and hop into bed. I just want you to know that I love you, and I think we should think about it."  
  
Kurt doesn't say anything and just stares at the computer monitor blankly so Blaine sighs a little and grudgingly adds,  
  
"And Dr. Hong said that if you're still super freaked about the last time, we could always make sure we both understood what we want and don't want before we try anything."  
  
Kurt looks at him when he hears that.  
  
"Your doctor told you what to say to me?"  
  
Blaine shrugs.  
  
"I didn't want to ruin it again. I promise it's about us this time, Kurt. I don't want it to be about how screwed up I am. This is about what I have with you, not what happened with him. I promise."  
  
Kurt doesn't say anything for a few minutes and goes back to looking at the pictures of fashion models and catwalk footage. Blaine isn't sure what he should do, so after a moment, he settles in again and starts looking over Kurt's shoulder. Finally Kurt looks at him again and says,  
  
"What do you mean, 'if we both understand what we want'? What does that even mean?"  
  
"That we don't have to do everything all at once, or even at all if we're not both into everything," Blaine says.  
  
"So if I don't want to have, um,  _sex_  sex with you, you'd honestly be okay with that?"  
  
Kurt looks so nervous waiting for the answer, Blaine feels like kicking himself all over again for how insistent he'd gotten before.  
  
"No, God, that's fine," he says, stammering in his haste to sound supportive. "I didn't even want to do that much the first time, I just sort of thought I was supposed to."  
  
"Right," Kurt says, suddenly looking upset again. "That's why I've been pushing you away lately, Blaine. Do you understand how scary it is to know how easily I could be taking advantage of you because you suddenly latch on to the idea that you're not allowed to say no?"  
  
"No, it's okay, Kurt," Blaine says. "I don't want something stupid like that to ruin what we have either, and apparently I'd be an idiot to pretend it's not a possibility. That's why Dr. Hong thinks we should talk about it before we start."  
  
"So what don't you want to do?" Kurt asks, instantly putting Blaine on the spot.  
  
"I thought we could talk about it together," Blaine says, a little caught off guard at Kurt's abruptness.  
  
"Yeah," Kurt says, slowly. "But you've already thought about this enough to ask your therapist about it, and there's no way you haven't come up with some ideas since then, so why not just tell me? What don't you want to do? I mean, if we can't talk about it right now, why are we even trying?"  
  
"Fine," Blaine says, giving in even though he wants to do this when he's had more time to pull himself together and think about what he needs to say in a way that won't freak Kurt out. "For example, I was thinking that I don't really like blowjobs."  
  
Kurt goes beet red at that but still manages to shoot him a questioning glance.  
  
"You were right before when you said it should be about us," he says. "I don't think... I really hated anything oral. Tom would hold onto my head and I couldn't pull away. I never wanted to do any of it, but when he made me do that it always felt like he was proving a point. Like he was making sure I knew I didn't matter. I want to sleep with someone and not have to feel like I'm worth less than them, and I don't want to feel like anyone is trying to make me more important than they are. It really freaks me out when I think about it."  
  
Kurt is staring at him carefully now, apparently thinking hard about something. Finally he says,  
  
"I need to think about this. Give me some time?"  
  
"Take as much as you need," Blaine says. "I don't mind waiting."  
  
***  
  
In the days leading up to Sectionals, it almost becomes a strange sort of game between the two of them when no one else is around. They'll be working on math homework or studying for finals and Kurt will look up from whatever he's highlighting and say something like,  
  
"I don't like watching porn."  
  
That's more than fine by Blaine, but instead of getting into  _that_  unpleasant conversation, he just smiles at Kurt a little bit and prompts,  
  
"No?"  
  
"I can't help it," Kurt says, blushing. "I've tried and I just end up getting horribly depressed. I keep thinking that they were all kids once, and they all have mothers, and  _God_ , what would their mothers think, and  _why_  would you get that tattoo there?"  
  
"I think I can handle leaving porn out of our sex life," Blaine says.  
  
Another time he offers,  
  
"Let's not do anything like dirty talk, okay? Not for a while, anyhow. I don't want the first time we're together be about pretending to be people we're not."  
  
"No role-playing," Kurt says. "Got it."  
  
Which unfortunately leads to Blaine over-thinking and blurting out hours later,  
  
"I'm not saying no role-playing, exactly. I mean, if you're comfortable with it, I've always kind of had a thing for Mulan when she was Ping."  
  
When a wall of silence is the only answer he gets, he hurries to add,  
  
"Or if that's too weird, it's totally cool, just forget I said it... I also thought Tuxedo Mask was really cute."  
  
"Blaine," Kurt starts, and his voice sounds strangled, but he's interrupted by a different voice before he can get any further.  
  
"Dude. Do Warblers  _try_  to incorporate musicals into sex games? Is 'I'll Make a Man Out of You' an actual recognized kink for gay people? Let me know the night that's happening and I'll plan to be away, okay?"  
  
"Shit," Blaine mutters to himself, feeling his face heat up. The roommate.  
  
"You didn't even hear when he came in half an hour ago did you?" Kurt says, his voice a mix between fondness and exasperation.  
  
Blaine shrugs helplessly.  
  
"I was too busy trying to decide what my feelings were on role-play."  
  
"You're lucky you're cute," Kurt says, shaking his head while trying to hold back the grin on his face.  
  
"I don't know, Kurt," says his roommate. "He's cute, but is he Li Shang cute?"  
  
"Cram it, Kyle," Kurt snaps, hurling his pillow across the room where it bounces off his roommate harmlessly. He glances back at Blaine and mouths, "You're totally Li Shang cute."  
  
Blaine buries his face in his hands and doesn't know if he's pleased or horrified.

***

Sectionals come before anyone is really ready for them. Rachel spends all her time in the days leading up to it looking like she's going to burst into hysterical tears every time someone so much as uses a synonym for the words "vocal" or "adrenaline."  
  
"Why is she taking this so seriously?" Mom wants to know one day when Rachel is stopping by to take him to a last-minute rehearsal, and is accidently set off by being told that her plans for Thanksgiving with her fathers "sounds exciting."  
  
"Because she's certifiable," Blaine says quietly so Rachel can't hear. Dad catches it as he makes his way back into the room with a paper bag for Rachel to breathe into and tries to shoot him a disapproving look, which is hampered by the fact that he clearly agrees with the prognosis.  
  
Still, in the end Blaine supposes he can't argue with results, because Rachel  _does_  get the Warblers into excellent fighting shape by the time the competition arrives. Blaine is still only singing lead for the one song, even though he's not moving around on stage like a zombie anymore.  
  
"I can't handle switching back and forth like that with everyone watching me," he says when Nick tries to protest after Blaine refuses to take the solo back. "I'm scared enough about going up there as it is. Everyone knows who I am, and why I'll be singing the song that way. I know people will say I'm playing up what happened to score sympathy points with the judges. I can't handle people telling me I'm faking it, too."  
  
Nick switches from looking distraught to concerned.  
  
"Are you sure you  _want_  to do this, Blaine?" He asks. "I never thought about people talking about what happened after they saw you singing. If it's too hard, we could switch the final song."  
  
Blaine smiles at Nick, fondly.  
  
"I don't know why you guys are always so nice to me," He says. "Nick, if we changed the song now there's no way we'd be able to get ready with a replacement in time. This choir can't handle spontaneity, you know that. Trust me, I've already thought a lot about what will happen when an auditorium of people start psychoanalyzing my performance. I _want_  to do this. This is something I can do for you guys, and even for my old friends at McKinley, but it's something I can do for me, too. I need to get used to the idea of letting people judge me and my life based on the things I say before the trial gets here, anyway. Sectionals seem like as good a time as any to get some practising in."  
  
The speech earns him a few awkward hugs and shoulder claps, but it also seems to ease Nick's concerns about "stealing the lead from the lead," so Blaine considers it a win.  
  
All in all, he's feeling fairly confident the evening of Sectionals. Wes and Thad have made him rehearse so many times he can get through the song with hardly any problems at all. Two of the numbers are so choreography-light that Blaine is certain he won't forget any dance steps or vocal cues for the rest of the performance, either. So long as he doesn't think about what he's going to sing in front of an auditorium full of strangers, and even worse, his parents, he doesn't feel even the slightest bit nervous about what they're about to do.  
  
He feels a lot less confident when they get to the Carmel auditorium and well-wishers start finding their way over to the Warblers to wish them luck on the performance. Instead of a theatre of anonymous faces that Blaine has to see once and then never think about again, he realizes that there are a lot of people he knows at the school, too. All of New Directions is there, looking anxious and wishing him luck. It would be less disconcerting if they were just watching to see if Vocal Adrenaline get pummelled, but as Tina assures him,  
  
"That's not as important as making sure you know that we love you and are here for you. Everyone's so proud of you, Blaine."  
  
Lauren is no longer a part of the McKinley glee club, but she shows up too, dragging the rest of the AV Club behind her.  
  
"You must be really excited to see Vocal Adrenaline lose," Blaine comments, nervously watching her foist what appears to be a rather expensive camera onto her shoulder.  
  
"You have no idea, Anderson," She smirks, and despite all the time that has passed since he's come back home, hearing his real last name said by someone who's never called him anything besides "Brenner" makes him feel awkward, and happy, and sad all at once. "I wouldn't be recording the whole thing if I didn't know you were about to wipe the floor with them. But don't kid yourself, I'm not just here to watch them get slaughtered. I'm here because  _you_  are the one who's going to do the slaughtering. I like to think I'm responsible for inspiring that killer instinct in you. Even if you're choosing to focus it on something as lame as a singing competition."  
  
Even Brett from his pot-smoking days behind the school is there, something that shocks both Blaine and Kurt so much they can only stare blankly as Brett catches sight of them and waves happily in their direction.  
  
"Dude, I'm so glad I found you," Brett grins as he ambles over to them. "I heard someone saying you would be at this thing tonight so I caught a ride with..." He falters a little as he tries to remember.  
  
"Well, someone anyway." Brett's face grows serious as he asks, "Dude, are you alright? Because you've been missing, like,  _a lot_ , of school lately. I almost never see you there anymore. You know your education is really important to help prepare you for the rest of your life, right?"  
  
"I know," Blaine says, recovering enough to nod solemnly at him. "I go to a new school now, Brett."  
  
"Seriously?" Brett says. "Since when? Oh dude, I'm sorry. I heard the other day that someone took you from your parents, but I didn't think they'd make you switch schools because of something like that. It's not your fault you were accidentally plagiarizing Blaine Brenner's homework."  
  
He pats Blaine on the shoulder reassuringly.  
  
"I'll tell you what," he says. "I'll go talk to Figgins and explain everything to him. We'll get you back at school in no time."  
  
Before Blaine has a chance to explain that really won't be necessary, and announcement comes on over the speakers asking everyone to make their way into the auditorium and Brett slips away into the crowd.  
  
"That's the weirdest thing that's happened to me all semester," Kurt comments, and Blaine really has to agree. They head over to join the rest of the Warblers, carefully ignoring Thad's horrified,  
  
"Has someone been smoking  _marijuana_  in the foyer? Should we alert the security staff?"  
  
***  
  
Blaine's slight case of nerves only gets worse after they've seen their competition. The first school doesn't seem to offer much of a challenge with their charming but frankly misguided medley documenting the history of bluegrass, but Vocal Adrenaline is another story. Sunshine tearing through Celine Dion is intimidating enough, but to hear her doing so entirely in French? Not even Kurt's indignant, "Those bitches are stealing my signature secret weapon!" makes him feel any better about what he's seeing. He's never seen a group of singers with so much military precision before, and he's about to get on a stage and sing a simple, unimpressive song that he has yet to sing perfectly in front of the other Warblers, let alone an entire audience.  
  
Kurt must notice the look of terror on his face, because he leans over and whispers,  
  
"Don't worry. They look intimidating because they're perfect, but they're only that perfect because they don't let themselves be human. They're completely unrelatable, we can use that against them."  
  
Blaine doesn't know if hearing that their biggest competition is a group of soulless automatons makes him feel better about having to compete against them or not. On the one hand, they are unable to empathize with their audience. On the other hand,  _they are unable to feel pain_. Not the most reassuring thing to think about when you're about to launch an attack against someone. Looking at the rest of the faces of the Warblers when they gather into formation while they wait to be announced, he's certain they're all feeling the same way he is. He sees a lot of white knuckles as Wes counts them off before they launch into the backing vocals of "Uptown Girl" and make their way on stage.  
  
Once they've started to sing, it's hard to think about how nerve-wracking it is to be on stage after the best performance Blaine has ever seen his whole life. All that goes through his mind is staying upright on both feet, not forgetting any notes or dance steps, and remembering to smile "like if you stop you will be incinerated and banished to an afterlife of hell and torment" as per Rachel's last-minute instructions. The loud cheering that greets the final notes make him feel noticeably better about the next few minutes, although he can't decide if being able to pick out several familiar voices cheering and shouting helps or hinders this reaction.  
  
The nerves start creeping back to the surface while Kurt takes centre-stage for "Blackbird," but everyone's gearing down their performances and Blaine desperately hopes his tense posture and complete lack of arm movement isn't noticeable as he makes focuses on the slow almost meandering choreography they've decided on for the number. He feels a lot better once he's more or less in one place at the extreme left of the stage, where he feels blissfully unnoticeable and insignificant.  
  
When Kurt finishes and the lights in the auditorium go out, Blaine suddenly feels like he's going to throw up. He's so close to the exit, he wonders if anyone would notice if he just slipped away leaving the Warblers to get through the song with no one taking the lead as they awkwardly sing out the tune, but then Wes reaches over to him in the darkness and squeezes his shoulder reassuringly and Blaine knows he can't do that to them. Not after everything they've done for him. He takes a deep breath as the backlights come on, leaving the Warblers in silhouette as they begin to sing the introduction.  
  
The only spotlight that turns on when Blaine starts singing is the one trained on him, all alone on the stage, singing with shadows. They stay in darkness as Blaine makes his way to the middle of the stage. He moves like he's in a trance. The only thing he can let himself think about is the song, not the audience, or the competition, or what anyone else is thinking, not even Kurt or his parents. The only way he'll get through this is if he thinks about nothing but the song.  
  
He doesn't break down and lose his composure like he did the first time he sang it. His control over his emotions is much stronger, but he winces a little when he just barely misses a note in the second verse and later on when his voice gives out a little at the bridge. All that practice and he still lets his feelings take over the song. He tries not to think about his mistakes so he can keep his mind on what he's doing on the stage in the first place.  
  
The other spotlights only turn on when the song reaches the "instrumental" section, and he slips behind the Warblers as they take over. They remain on until the end when Blaine continues to sing the final chorus and they go to stand in place around him. When the song ends they are standing in something that looks a little like an off-centre diamond formation, with Blaine almost hidden in the middle of the group. The spotlights fade down to nothing, the one on him going out last.  
  
There are a few seconds of silence where Blaine feels nothing but pure panic course through his body, thinking about how he's ruined this for all of them and how stupid it was for anyone to trust him with something so important as he panics over the thought of having to look any of his friends in the eye ever again, but almost as soon as it starts it goes away when the applause finally begins. It's deafening, and then there are Warbler's clapping him on the back and telling him he's done a good job. As they're leaving the stage he feels Kurt take his hand into his and pull back a little, drawing him into a long hug that part of the audience can probably still see because they're not quite off stage yet, but Kurt leans in to whisper, "You're the most amazing person I've ever met," and Blaine doesn't care if they  _do_  see him. He feels so light he can barely register that he's not, in fact, floating.  
  
He still feels like he's watching everything from 20 feet in the air when they announce the winners, so the enormity of their first place finish doesn't even hit him until Rachel accosts them in the lobby, shrieking a little as she says,  
  
"You beat  _Vocal Adrenaline_ , you guys! Do you know what that  _means_? This the first time they've ever been beaten at a Sectionals show in their  _entire_  performing history. This doesn't just change the playing field in show choir competition. It  _re-landscapes_  it."  
  
She shrieks again and hops up and down in one place for almost an entire minute before flapping her hands uselessly in front of her face and gasping,  
  
"I have to go mail a letter."  
  
Finn overhears this and calls out after her rapidly retreating form,  
  
"What? Rachel, no! We talked about this."  
  
He sighs and looks apologetically at Kurt and Blaine.  
  
"She wrote this letter she was talking about sending to the show choir committee if you guys won, requesting a new rule that says you're only allowed to perform a number for a set of judges once per competitive season. I don't think she wants to try to top Blaine's song when we have to compete with you."  
  
"I wish I found that more surprising," Kurt says flatly, but there's not much time to stew over Rachel being Rachel when Blaine is being swarmed by congratulations coming from his old friends and his new ones. When his parents finally get through to them, Blaine is even less worried about Rachel's borderline sociopathic behaviour because in that moment the only thing that matters is how proud they look. Blaine's entire world could crumple around him tomorrow, or he could go on to nothing but good things happening to him until the day he dies, but he's positive that either way, this evening is going to go down as one of the best nights of his entire life.  
  
***  
  
They're in Kurt's dorm room a few hours later, getting ready to go out to dinner with the rest of the Warblers. His parents had seemed a little sad that he couldn't spend the evening with them, which is probably only to be expected after the song he just sang in front of them, but they're still insistent that he go out with his friends and celebrate.  
  
"You've more than earned it," Mom says, grinning at him. "Just text us if you end up thinking you'll be staying out any later than your curfew."  
  
Blaine agrees, ignoring Jeff's envious, "I wish  _my_  parents enforced curfew like yours do. I'd be grounded for a week if I texted them to say I wasn't going to try to get back in time" as he walks past with his own change of clothes to get ready in Nick's room.   
  
Blaine just smiles at him, feeling too good to bother clarifying that the curfew they've given him has nothing to do with making sure he gets home at a decent hour and everything to do with serving as an excuse for all of them to check in with each other without having to look like they're silently freaking out about losing each other again.  
  
Kyle is out again for the night, so when they're alone again, all pretence of getting ready to go out is set aside in favour of grabbing onto Kurt and manoeuvring him towards the bed, pulling his face in closer with his hands as he gently kisses him and teases his mouth open. Not that it takes much convincing, as Kurt is just as happy as he is to be distracted, laughing a little as he pulls Blaine down on top of him as they topple onto the bed.  
  
For a while they just kiss, Blaine's insides buzzing pleasantly as the feelings of arousal combine with the euphoria he still feels from their victory. But then Kurt pulls away and starts to  _bite_  along Blaine's jaw line, following it for a while until he moves over and starts to mouth at Blaine's ear. Blaine whimpers. He's never even considered this as a potential turn-on for him – certainly no one's ever done anything even remotely as intimate as this for him before – and it's making him so hard so quickly he's actually forced to question the possibility of dying from blue balls.  
  
"This wasn't on our list of approved sex acts," he manages to gasp out.  
  
Kurt laughs, the vibrations starting from deep inside his chest, where it's pushed up against Blaine's. Blaine shivers and his whimper turns into a groan.  
  
"I didn't think kissing someone's ear was considered a sex act," Kurt whispers, delightedly.  
  
"Yeah, well, live and learn, I guess," Blaine manages, wishing his voice hadn't suddenly risen higher than Kurt's.  
  
"You know," Kurt says, pulling away slightly to get a better look at Blaine's face. "Since you brought them up..."  
  
He trails off a little to grind his hips up into Blaine's, whose mature and wholly grownup response is to wail just a little bit and bury his face into Kurt's shoulder as he momentarily panics about the sparks behind his eyes damaging his vision permanently.  
  
"Blaine?" Kurt prompts, the amused lilt Blaine loves so much still very present in his voice, although Blaine is happy to note it's being accompanied by some of the same tension that Blaine can't hide from his words, either.  
  
In Blaine's mind's eye, he is saying "Yes, I'm ready," in a strong and confident voice before he reaches down and yanks open Kurt's Dalton shirt, popping off buttons and making Kurt gasp as the cold air hits his exposed chest before Blaine gets up just slightly to dexterously take off both of their pants as Kurt gazes up at him with unfocused but adoring eyes.  
  
Instead he opens his mouth and what comes out is, "But we're going to be late for dinner," even as his eyes widen in horror. Kurt leans back against the pillow and laughs, displacing some of the tension in the air, but surprisingly not getting rid of much of it. He reaches up and carefully runs his hands up and down Blaine's unfortunately clothed arms, making him shiver again.  
  
"I think they'll be more surprised if we get there on time tonight, Blaine," he says.  
  
"Okay," Blaine manages to say, as he reaches to tug open Kurt's shirt, an activity that lasts for all of 4 seconds before his hands are slapped away by its disapproving owner.  
  
"Gently," Kurt admonishes, reaching up to get to some of the buttons himself. Blaine complies and slows down, trying to make his hands stop trembling long enough to get the job done, but pleased to note that Kurt's having the same problem. When they finally undo the last button, Blaine eagerly helps Kurt tug his arms out of the sleeves before he tosses it behind him, aiming for the desk chair, but wisely saying nothing when he misses. When he turns back around he can feel his face fall as he bursts out,  
  
" _Seriously_?"  
  
Kurt cackles as he continues to shimmy out of his undershirt.  
  
"You're so overdramatic sometimes," he says, and then he finally,  _finally_ , has his top half unclothed. Blaine's shirt soon follows Kurt's to the floor and for a while they're happy to carry on where they left off. Kurt's bare skin is smooth and soft against his. He can't stop running his hands across Kurt's chest, mapping out every part of it with his fingers, one time stopping to long enough to hesitantly pinch at a nipple to see what the response will be, laughing when Kurt gasps and arches into it.  
  
"Laugh it up, chuckles," Kurt grits out. "At least my turn-ons don't include anyone drooling on my ear."  
  
"You started it," Blaine protests. "And to be fair, I haven't tried that one out on you yet, so you're making an unfair assumption right now."  
  
He leans down and bites at Kurt's nipple this time, holding it gently between his teeth. Kurt makes a keening noise and Blaine feels his cock jerk against his own thigh where their bodies are still pressed tightly together. He grins up at him in triumph but quickly moves back up to kiss him on the mouth when he notices Kurt's hand's wavering in the air like he want to grab onto Blaine's hair and is trying really hard not to.  
  
"Sorry," Kurt says into his mouth, but Blaine shakes his head.  
  
"You didn't do anything," Blaine says. "Nothing to be sorry for."  
  
"Ok," Kurt says. "Good. Do you want to keep going?"  
  
"Do you really need to ask that?" Blaine says as he reaches down to undo the front of Kurt's pants. Kurt just smiles at him and returns the favour. Speed stripping while lying on top of each other proves to be an insurmountable challenge and before long Blaine has to admit that he's going to need to let go of Kurt and sit up to lose the pants and underwear without getting a concussion. Once they're naked it seems like the momentum they've built is quickly lost. Blaine has never felt so vulnerable before and briefly wonders what will happen if Kurt takes a look at him and decides he can't be with someone who has such a hideous body, but Kurt seems equally bewildered and shy as they sit side-by-side with their backs to the wall, facing forward in painfully awkward silence.  
  
 _Don't look down, don't look down_ , is the only thought running through Blaine's head. A small part way at the back of his head is asking the rest of him if he's feeling alright, but mostly Blaine can only think about making Kurt feel as comfortable and as safe as possible. If anyone deserves privacy the first time he's having sex, it's Kurt.  
  
"Why aren't you looking?" Kurt demands, his voice tense and worried.  
  
"I don't know," Blaine says, feeling a little panicked. "Why aren't you?"  
  
"I was going to follow your lead," Kurt hisses.  
  
"Oh," Blaine says. "I'm sorry."  
  
Kurt sighs and says,  
  
"This is ridiculous."  
  
"Do you – do you want to count to three or something?" Blaine asks, desperate to get things back on track but not sure how to go about it.  
  
Kurt shoots him a look of utter disbelief before his shoulders relax and he starts laughing, breaking the cycle of what Blaine thinks he's going to start calling Terror Staring.  
  
"Oh my God," Blaine gasps, leaning forward slightly as he rests his forehead against Kurt's. "This is not a good way to start out."  
  
"No," Kurt agrees. "But this isn't too bad."  
  
"What do you – "Blaine starts before his voice catches and Kurt's hand is carefully reaching out to take hold of his cock.  
  
"Holy God," he mutters, and Kurt laughs again, nervously.  
  
"Blaine?" he almost whispers. "Blaine, my hand is touching your penis."  
  
Kurt's hand shifts slightly, fingers clenching and relaxing just slightly, like he's making sure he's not imagining things. It's almost nothing, but Blaine wants more so badly that his breath catches in his throat all the same as he answers,  
  
"Yeah, yeah I definitely noticed that."  
  
Kurt slides his hand up and down Blaine's length tentatively, almost experimentally, like he's not sure what he's supposed to be doing. Blaine doesn't know why, but in that moment the hesitation is the single sexiest thing he's ever felt. Everything feels so new when it's Kurt.  
  
"Is that good?" Kurt asks, worriedly.  
  
Blaine's response is to make the most embarrassing sound he's ever heard come out of his mouth.   
  
"I think it feels good because you're the one doing it," he manages, feeling his entire body shudder when Kurt pulls a little harder. Kurt's face changes a little, like he's suddenly sad, and Blaine feels bad for saying anything, but then Kurt is letting go to slide across the bed and swing his legs around so he's facing Blaine as he straddles his thighs, kneeling so he's practically in Blaine's lap without resting his full weight on him.  
  
"You're seriously okay with all of this, right?" Kurt asks, resting both hands on Blaine's shoulders while he worriedly waits to hear the answer.  
  
"Kurt, I'm happy," Blaine says softly, reaching out to push back a strand of hair that's fallen into Kurt's eyes and mentally throwing himself a parade when Kurt lets him get away with it. "Everything is perfect, and I'll tell you if it isn't. I promise I won't do that to you again, okay?"  
  
"Okay," Kurt says, slowly, but he looks like he's feeling a little less anxious. Then Blaine shifts slightly and their erections brush up against each other. Kurt starts so hard they almost fall over and by the time he regains his balance they've both gone back to laughing like nothing happened.   
  
Blaine makes sure Kurt isn't going to fall over again before he reaches out to take Kurt in his hand, loving the way he can feel Kurt's stomach muscles clenching at the contact. It doesn't take much before Kurt is panting and rocking up into him. At first he tries to return the favour for Blaine, matching him stroke for stroke, but his coordination is so laughable right now it's almost like he's drunk, or like Finn's lack of timing is contagious.   
  
Finally he gives up and flops back onto the bed, pulling Blaine with him so Blaine is lying on top again, resting between Kurt's legs. When Blaine experimentally tries to take both their cocks in his hand to jerk them both off at the same time, Kurt actually starts to make little sobbing sounds. Still, it's hard to keep a good grip on both of their dicks and keep a consistent level of pressure at the same time. The extra friction even pulls a little too hard sometimes, but the jolts of arousal going off through Blaine mean he isn't exactly complaining, either.  
  
"It's too bad we don't have lube here," He manages to grit out. "It might make things a little easier."  
  
"Oh shit, hang on," Kurt says, sliding out from under Blaine like he's done during countless makeout sessions before, with an agility that convinces Blaine he's either dating a wizard or a contortionist. He climbs over top of Blaine and half stumbles gracelessly to his dresser on the other side of the room, completely naked.  
  
" _Kurt_ ," Blaine whines, flopping back onto the bed impatiently as Kurt starts to rummage through his dresser.  
  
"Oh relax," Kurt says, a command which is probably less authoritative than he would like because of how he's frantically rifling through the drawers. "You'll be thanking me in a minute."  
  
Finally he makes a small noise of triumph and turns around with something in his hand. Blaine isn't paying attention to what it is though, too caught up in really  _seeing_  his boyfriend naked for the first time. Blaine hasn't ever thought much about penises one way or the other before. He likes guys, sure, but he's never really let himself think about what that _means_. But now that he's in the moment, all he can think about is how fucking perfect Kurt's cock is. He thinks it might be a little creepy how amazing he thinks it looks, especially when it's erect and hard and he knows that  _he's_  the reason Kurt's turned on right now. Then he feels weirded out when he realizes that when they tried this before he hadn't even noticed what Kurt looked like, and is relieved all over again that Kurt said no. This is so much better than anything Blaine imagined it could be.  
  
"God Blaine," Kurt's voice snaps him out of it. "You can stop undressing me with your eyes. That part's over."  
  
Blaine's eyes finally find their way back to Kurt's face, which is now bright red, but Blaine is happy to note still pretty pleased about the effect he's having.  
  
"You're really hot," Blaine manages after a few moments of trying to find a suitable apology and failing.  
  
Kurt rolls his eyes but seems more than happy to come back to bed and crawl on top of Blaine, both of them gasping when their erections brush up against each other's skin.  
  
"I bought this the day after you started talking to me about establishing boundaries," Kurt breathes, holding up the tube of lube in his hand. "Will it make me sound less or more creepy if I tell you I drove three towns over so there was no chance I'd run into your mother while I was paying?"  
  
"Not creepy," Blaine says as he takes it out of Kurt's hands and flips it open, squeezing a good-sized amount on to his hand. "Smart. I like that you plan ahead."  
  
He reaches down between them and wraps his hand around Kurt's cock. He's not prepared for Kurt squeak so sharply his ears ring a little as he jumps back out of Blaine's grasp.  
  
"What's wrong?" Blaine asks in alarm, but Kurt just shakes his head as he gets even redder and says,  
  
"Sorry. It's, um, colder than I thought it would be."  
  
Blaine laughs at him until Kurt pours some of the lube onto his own hand and reaches down for Blaine in retaliation. Blaine gasps a little and wheezes out,  
  
"Where were you keeping that, a deep freeze?"  
  
"Not so funny now, is it?" Kurt says smirking at him. Blaine wants to say something back about looking into better storage locations when Kurt tries twisting his hand a little as he pulls, just when his hand is coming up to the head of Blaine's cock, and Blaine's brain promptly shorts out.  
  
" _Fuck_ ," He manages, shaking a little as he reaches out to take hold of Kurt a second time. This time there's considerably less screaming, so Blaine slowly begins to pull up and down, the slickness of the lube making the rough friction smooth away until there's nothing but easy pressure. Kurt shudders and leans in closer, doing a marginally better job this time at matching his strokes to Blaine's, staring directly into Blaine's eyes entire time. Neither of them speak, and Blaine feels like he could get lost watching the way Kurt's pupils dilate when he tries copying the slight twisting motion Kurt uses on each upward stroke.  
  
Kurt leans down after a few minutes and gently nips at Blaine's bottom lip, still pulling on Blaine's cock, but a little less insistently than he had been, like he's trying to find a way to make everything drawn out and slow. Blaine raises his head up slightly and kisses him back, happy to let this last forever if that's what Kurt wants. Still, it's a bit of a disappointment when Kurt's hand pulls away from his erection entirely, because Blaine's never felt so good doing any of this before and he doesn't want it to stop.  
  
Blaine can tell the exact moment Kurt stops thinking about Blaine's hands on him and what they're doing, can tell the exact moment when whatever is bothering him becomes too much of a distraction for him to keep going, and he feels something uneasy settle in his stomach when Kurt finally gives up and pulls away, so he's sitting gently on top of Blaine's thighs again with a queasy looking frown on his face.  
  
"What is it?" Blaine asks, letting his hand fall away from Kurt's erection. Kurt makes a displeased face before looking from Blaine to his hand.  
  
"There's no instructions on the bottle about what you do when this happens."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Blaine asks. Kurt holds out his hand, palm outward, the slippery solution coating it as it glistens in the light.  
  
"I almost touched your hair with this on me, Blaine," Kurt says, sounding truly upset. "Your  _hair_."  
  
"It's just lube, Kurt," Blaine says, slowly as he begins to process what the problem is and the knot of tension inside of him begins to untangle once again.  
  
"I was going to run my hand through your  _hair_ ," Kurt repeats, like Blaine has lost his mind before looking around for something to wipe the excess.  
  
"Why didn't I think to grab some towels before we started?" he muses.  
  
"Use the blanket," Blaine suggests, only to be answered by a withering stare of derision, and Blaine starts to understand how awful their first time post-coital will be when Kurt finally sorts out that as a general rule, sex is  _messy_. After a few more minutes of Kurt trying to find something sufficiently plain enough in the items of clothing strewn around the room within grabbing distance, Blaine gets tired of waiting and reaches out for Kurt's hand. Turning it back towards Kurt he guides it directly onto Kurt's chest, tightening his grip when Kurt gasps and tries to pull away. Setting it firmly on Kurt's chest, he drags it back and forth a few times until the glide gives way again to friction before he finally lets go. Kurt is looking at him in disbelief.  
  
"You  _bitch_ ," he says accusingly. Blaine just shrugs.  
  
"There was a problem and I solved it," he says. "Can we get back to what we started now?"  
  
Kurt scowls at him before grabbing Blaine's own messy hand and dragging it across  _his own_  chest. It might feel sort of disgusting, but Blaine will never admit it out loud.  
  
"Feel better?" He goes with instead. Kurt just shrugs in a way that suggests that, yes actually, he  _does_  feel a lot better, thanks for asking. "Good, but I suggest you get over the messy hands very, very quickly, because in case you haven't noticed, neither of us are quite finished here and since we are very much lubed up at the moment, if we want to get anywhere, sacrifices will have to be made."  
  
Kurt smiles at him a little wickedly as he says, "That's disappointingly unimaginative of you," before languidly stretching his body back along the length of Blaine's, like a cat stretching out in the sunshine.  
  
"What are you proposing?" Blaine asks.  
  
Kurt smiles again and kisses him hard as he grinds down on top of him, both of them groaning out loud as their bare cocks rub against each other. Kurt immediately grinds down again a second time, his hips moving in a continual rocking motion almost like he's dancing, and Blaine's hands shoot out to latch onto Kurt's hips and hold him still.  
  
"Impressive," he pants out as Kurt starts laughing at him, sounding just as breathless as he is. He willingly stops moving for a few moments as Blaine softly runs his hands up and down Kurt's sides and back, before finally moving to his ass, making a pleased sound when Blaine cautiously grips tighter and pulls their bodies closer together, again making sure to keep careful eye contact with him. Seeing this as his invitation to start moving again, Kurt slowly begins to rock his body downwards again, meeting Blaine's thrusts upward. Hot pressure builds up at the base of Blaine's spine, more intense than anything he's ever felt before, and he can't tell if it's because what they're doing feels that amazing or if it's got more to do with watching Kurt come apart on top of him, losing his composure like Blaine has never even imagined possible.  
  
"You're so beautiful," he gasps out, and Kurt laughs again, much shakier this time.  
  
It doesn't last very much longer after that. Kurt comes with a shuddering cry, his head ducking down suddenly as he clings tightly to Blaine and leans his forehead on Blaine's collarbone. Blaine is getting ready to try and subtly bring a hand in between them so he has a chance to finish off when Kurt pulls back a little to look at him again. Their cocks drag against each other yet again and in his newly sensitive state, Kurt keens a little loudly, clearly not expecting the intense sensation. It's maybe the hottest thing Blaine has ever seen in his entire life, and his whole body clenches as he reaches down between them. He barely has to touch himself before he's following Kurt's lead, shooting ropes of cum onto their stomachs and into the space between them.  
  
Kurt leans back and cuddles with him for a few moments, kissing him gently every now and then, before he can't take it any longer and is up and back at the dresser in search of Kleenex, which he uses to wipe both of them down as well as he can, lamenting over the lack of private bathrooms in the Dalton dorm rooms. Blaine just smiles at him lazily as he listens to him complain, feeling far too relaxed to consider doing anything else. Finally, once they've been cleaned off to Kurt's satisfaction, he urges Blaine up into a standing position long enough to pull the covers down for them to scramble into the bed properly.   
  
Blaine rests his head on Kurt's chest, and Kurt's hand finally finds its way back to his hair, pulling at it gently. Blaine snuggles in closer, so he's partially lying on top of his boyfriend, blissfully happy, without anything bad or guilty creeping in around the edges of his thoughts like he'd been expecting. Only a strange niggling feeling that this isn't the first time they've been here is interrupting his lazy thoughts – the idea that he's had something like this before and has wanted to get it back ever since. He tries not to let it worry him, because for now the only thing that matters is himself and Kurt, and how real his happiness feels in the moment.  
  
"What are you thinking about?" Kurt asks after a few more minutes of silence.  
  
"How much I love this," Blaine mumbles before he really thinks about the answer. "Knowing that I won't wake up this time."  
  
Suddenly the pieces are falling into place. Blaine hasn't had any wet dreams at all since he's been back home, at least not that he can remember. But now that he's lying here with Kurt, the details start drifting back to him in bits and pieces. The closeness he feels now is something he's only ever allowed himself to think possible when he was sleeping and couldn't help himself. He remembers how upset he was just a little under a year ago, when he'd wake up in the mornings stuck in a nightmare, remembering something he thought he'd never be able to have outside of daydreams. The enormity of how much his life has changed hits him almost instantly, and he doesn't know if he wants to laugh or cry, so he settles on a strange mixture of both.  
  
"Hey," Kurt asks in alarm, pulling back slightly to look at him. "Blaine, are you crying? Oh God, I'm sorry. What did I do wrong? Tell me?"  
  
Blaine just shakes his head as he wraps his arms around Kurt's torso and holds him tightly.  
  
"It's okay, it's okay," he keeps repeating, lifting his head up for half a moment to kiss Kurt's chest, feeling a fresh spike of contentment and almost painful emotion rush up to meet him when he does it. "It's all perfect. You're perfect."  
  
He stops talking for a minute and just focusing on breathing carefully. In and out, until he feels just a little less shaky. Even then his voice cracks despite himself when he continues,  
  
"I just never even knew I wanted to feel this way before I met you. And then I used to hate myself for wanting it when I thought I'd never get it."  
  
"How do you feel?" Kurt asks.  
  
"Like I don't have to be lonely anymore," he says, reaching up to run his thumb across Kurt's shoulder and collarbone.  
  
Kurt smiles at him softly, his eyes starting to drift shut. Blaine listens to his breath even out before falling asleep himself, the gentle movement of Kurt's chest as it rises and falls the last thing he notices.


	5. Extra!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original character alert! A look at the fluffy aftermath of the final Klaine scene in the last chapter from a (slightly insane) outsider perspective. Or, why having a roommate can be a bad thing. Pure fluff and even purer crack. No angst here.

It's almost 3 in the morning by the time Kyle slips back into the dorm room to avoid getting caught being out after curfew. Kyle is an undisputed master in the art of sneaking back in after curfew. Kurt just rolls his eyes and tells him one day his luck will run out, but Kyle isn't too concerned. He's basically a ninja after all the practise he's gotten.  
  
Except this time, someone is waiting in front of his door, face obscured in the dim hall lighting. Time slows down to a crawl as Kyle weighs his options. It doesn't take long, because really, there is only one option. He's going to have to take this guy out. It shouldn't be too hard – the person looks small enough. Kyle can probably take him out before the guy knows he's there. The zero tolerance policy might be a bit of a problem if he's not fast enough and the mysterious stranger sees his face, but he could always claim to be starting up self-defense classes. Everyone knows the best way to learn how to defend yourself is to be placed in a situation where you don't know someone's about to throw you to the ground in a flying squirrel tackle.  
  
Unfortunately as he edges towards the door, back against the wall, he steps on a painfully squeaky floorboard, causing the person's head to jerk up as he looks around almost hopefully. Kyle can't believe his parents pay so much to send him to this place when they can't even be bothered to make sure the floors don't squeak. He should write someone a letter.  
  
Fortunately, he's close enough now to realize that the person waiting at the door is only a very nervous, very twitchy kid named Thad. Kyle has a couple classes with him, and recognizes him from Warbler performances, but they've never really talked before.  
  
"Oh thank God," Thad hisses as soon as he recognizes Kyle, shuffling down the hall towards him in his housecoat and slippered feet. He's clutching something in his hands. "You're Kurt's roommate, right? I've been quietly knocking for _hours_  but no one answers."  
  
"Maybe it's because you're  _quietly_  knocking?" Kyle suggests.  
  
Thad just looks at him helplessly.  
  
"I was worried that if I did it too loudly I might wake someone up," he says.  
  
"Yeah," Kyle says. "Like maybe the people you wanted to answer the door."  
  
Thad just looks at him miserably, so Kyle decides to let it go.  
  
"What can I do for you, little man?" he asks. Thad holds up the item in his hands, which looks like some sort of white Styrofoam box.  
  
"Kurt and Blaine didn't make it to the dinner celebration," Thad explains. "We couldn't let the stars of the night not take their share of the dinner. I was tasked with delivering it to them. I've been coming out here once every half hour since 10:30."  
  
"Celebration?" Kyle asks, happily. "They won?"  
  
He grins at Thad hugely, and listens happily enough as Thad starts to regale him excitedly with a play-by-play account of the night's events, his nerves suddenly forgotten. Kyle's not as big on the glee club as most of the other students here, but school pride is school pride. And besides, it will make Kurt happy that they did it, and Kurt is an awesome roommate when he's happy. And sometimes when he's not happy, too. Kyle always makes sure to spend time bonding with him when he's having a 'fat day', because if there's any of Kurt's stepmother's awesome baking around the room shipped up in a care package, that's when it all gets offloaded onto Kyle as Kurt wails about the size of his thighs. It definitely beats his last roommate who played trombone in the school band.  
  
When Kyle gets tired of listening about the floor plan of the Carmel High auditorium he holds up a hand for silence and after Thad trails off he tells him,  
  
"I think I have a plan."  
  
Thad perks up at this.  
  
"Give me the food," Kyle says, reaching his hand out for the box.  
  
"Why?" Thad asks, uncertainly. Kyle sighs a little.  
  
"Because I have a key?" He says. "And whatever they've been doing that's got them sleeping so hard has got to have been very labour intensive. Do you really want to see the aftermath?"  
  
Thad falters, still not willing to let his job fall to potentially unreliable hands. Kyle frowns at him.  
  
"How happy do you think they'll be if you invade their privacy like this?" he asks. He speaks in the same disappointed voice his mother uses when she catches him trying to buy finished essays online. Thad caves.  
  
"Fine," he says, handing over the food. "You're sure they'll get this?"  
  
"Kinda hard to lose it in the two steps it takes to walk to Kurt's side of the room, man," Kyle says cheerfully as he pats Thad on the shoulder and waves him off to bed.  
  
He's as quiet as possible walking in, which means that he doesn't shout after he trips on some clothing that gets caught on his foot as he walks in the door. He does shriek a little, however, when he looks down and notices that the clothing in question is a pair of boxers, because while Kyle is certain he wouldn't have a problem touching Kurt's or Blaine's balls if it would save their lives, when no one is under threat of death the last thing he wants is to get near their nuts, even if it's just by degrees of separation.  
  
He forgets about his trauma almost as soon as he sees his perfect, beautiful bed though, laid out in front of him like a slutty girl just begging him to have his sleepy, sleepy way with her. He sets down the already forgotten food and strips to his boxers. It takes Kyle a long time before he'll admit that he needs sleep, but once he's reached that point, he doesn't mess around. But as soon as he switches off the light and slides under the covers, he's distracted by a pinging sound coming from somewhere on the floor, accompanied by brief flashes of light. Frowning, he sits up and pokes a leg out from under the covers as he feels around until his foot hits a cell phone. He leans down to pick it up after he flicks the light back on, his eyes a little fuzzed over with exhaustion; it takes a moment of squinting before the screen comes into focus.  
  
 _Dad: Sent 2:58 AM  
Blaine, if you don't answer me back right now there will be consequences. Don't you dare make me ground you.   
  
Dad: Sent 3:00 AM  
Blaine??_  
  
Kyle frowns and glances over to the other bed where Blaine and Kurt are tangled up in each other's arms fast asleep. He doesn't want anyone to get in trouble just because they slept through a few text messages. That isn't cool, and he doesn't know why Blaine's dad is being such a hardass about this anyhow. It's not even that late yet.  
  
 _Blaine: Sent 3:02 AM  
is that any way to treat the guy who thad says led his dweeby singing group to victory?  
  
Dad: Sent 3:03 AM  
What? Blaine, is that you?_  
  
Kyle snorts quietly, feeling some of the tiredness leave his body. Finding someone else's phone when no one's around to make him give it back is kind of like Christmas morning to him.  
  
 _Blaine: Sent 3:05 AM  
please. do i LOOK gay?  
  
Blaine: Sent 3:08 AM  
that was a joke.  
  
Blaine: Sent 3:09 AM  
because this is a phone.   
  
Blaine: Sent 3:11 AM  
and not real life.  
  
Blaine: Sent 3:13 AM  
im kurts roommate._  
  
Kyle rolls his eyes when the answer comes back almost immediately. Some people have no idea how to take a joke.  
  
 _Dad: Sent 3:13 AM  
OH. Did Blaine leave his phone behind when they left?  
  
Then again,_ Kyle thinks, laughing quietly as he reads,  _he's not entirely unfunny.  
  
Blaine: 3:14 AM  
haha good one.  
  
Dad: Sent 3:16 AM  
I wasn't being funny. What's going on?  
  
Blaine: Sent 3:16 AM  
do you want to guess?  
  
Dad: Sent 3:16 AM  
NO._  
  
Kyle huffs a little. Blaine must get his manners from his mother, because this guy is sort of a tool. Still, Kyle prides himself on being a good sport, so he works hard to keep the tone light as he continues.  
  
 _Blaine: Sent 3:18 AM  
they never made it out of the room ;)  
  
Dad: Sent 3:18 AM  
??_  
  
Kyle's face feels like it's splitting in two as he answers.  
  
 _Blaine: Sent 3:20 AM  
congrats mr. anderson! yr boy is officially a man!  
  
Blaine: Sent 3:21 AM  
unless there's another pair of gays in here sleeping naked under the covers that i cant see.  
  
Blaine: Sent 3:22 AM  
haha_  
  
There's a long moment when nothing happens and Kyle starts to wonder if Blaine's dad has fallen asleep when finally he hears the pinging reply, just when he's started to lose interest and remember that there's a whole doggy bag full of food sitting on the table, waiting for someone to eat it.  
  
 _Dad: Sent 3:30 AM  
Could you wake Blaine up and have him call me?_  
  
Kyle shudders involuntarily, thinking about the boxers his foot has so recently touched.  
  
 _Blaine: Sent 3:31 AM  
NO. im not touching that side of the room. who knows what theyve done and on what._  
  
Kyle is just hitting send when a terrible thought starts to form in the back of his mind. It's a thought that's so horrifying the idea of being the only person alive who knows it makes him feel weak. Fortunately he's not the only person in Westerville awake at the moment.  
  
 _Blaine: Sent 3:33 AM  
oh my god i hope they left my bed out of it._  
  
Kyle winces slightly, because he remembers just a second too late about all the times he's been held late after school for saying things that other people think are offensive or whatever, even when they totally  _aren't_. It's just that sometimes he doesn't remember that people are way too sensitive before he talks. Mr. Anderson is a tool, but Kyle doesn't like it when  _anyone_  hates him. Maybe Mr. Anderson is being so lame because he thinks Kyle has a problem with Blaine.  
  
 _Blaine: Sent 3:34 AM  
NOT THAT ITS NOT AWESOME THAT YOUR KID IS GAY.  
  
Blaine: Sent 3:34 AM  
IF I WAS GAY I WOULD TOTALLY TAP THAT. I PROMISE.  
  
Blaine: Sent: 3:35 AM  
YOUR SON IS HOT MR ANDERSON  
  
Blaine: Sent 3:35 AM  
HOW DO I STOP SHOUting oh its ok i got it.  
  
Blaine: Sent 3:36 AM  
i just dont want any spooge on my bed when i didnt do anything to put it there u know? and spooge was def flying in this room tonite.  
  
Blaine: Sent 3:38 AM  
you should see the place mr. anderson it looks like a sex war was fought here. clothes all over the place.  
  
Dad: Sent 3:38 AM  
What's your name?_  
  
But Kyle is in the middle of explaining himself and doesn't stop to answer. He hates when he has to stop a thought mid-text message. It's always so hard to remember where you were after you've got the conversation back on the right track.  
  
 _Blaine: Sent: 3:40 AM  
1 pair of boxers by the door and i dont even know where the other pair is. does Kurt look the kind of guy who likes to let his junk fly free? has it ever come up in conversation? o wait! 2nd pair on the corner of the dresser. no way those werent thrown. they must have been really going at it haha  
  
Dad: Sent 3:40 AM  
Your name?_  
  
Normally Kyle admires persistence, but only when it's not directed at him. He really thinks Blaine's dad isn't getting how much ass has obviously been tapped in this room tonight.  
  
 _Blaine: Sent 3:42 AM  
i dont want to say too much because im an awesome roommate but i think i see some luuuuuube. Kurt you doooog  
  
Dad: Sent 3:42 AM  
Name?_  
  
Kyle ignores the barrage of questions, which is frankly just getting bossy and repetitive by this point, scanning the room for other important information he can offer. Which is when he notices there's a very important piece of the fun festivities puzzle missing in the chaos around him.  
  
 _Blaine: Sent 3:43 AM  
oh. shit. shit shit shit.  
  
Dad: Sent 3:43 AM  
What's wrong??  
  
Blaine: Sent 3:46 AM  
i dont see condom wrappers! dude did you guys talk to them about safe sex?? do they skip that part in public school.  
  
Blaine: Sent 3:47 AM  
this is not cool mr. anderson. _  
  
Kyle gets up and cautiously moves to the other side of the room to investigate, the phone pinging away on the bed behind him. Kurt and Blaine are both still out of it. They look like they could sleep through a fire alarm right now. Kyle frantically wonders if he can roll them over to get a better look and see if one of them fell asleep on a box of condoms or something. Kyle is actually a very smart guy, regardless of all the extra donations his parents have started to make to Dalton since his enrollment. He knows that you do  _not_  have sex with someone without slipping into a magical STD-repellent penis jacket first. Love is a powerful force in the universe, but all it takes is one pregnant hooker giving you crabs and your fun times are  _over_. Of course, gay guys probably don't get as many partners pregnant as straight ones, but still,  _unprotected sex is irresponsible_. Kyle is going to have a very serious talk with these two come morning. Which is surprising, because he thought that  _Kurt_  of all people would have this sorted out. He's seen gay sex brochures in the guy's desk drawer and everything, one time when he was digging around looking for extra money.  
  
The gay brochures! Kyle feels his chest unclench and he lets out a sigh of relief when he remembers them, because he had read them himself, to see if there were any hints on how to convince girls that anal sex is the best sex, and now he distinctly remembers a section stressing the importance of safety coming first. Kurt's got this covered. Kurt's got  _it_ covered. Kurt lives to follow the rules.  
  
 _Dad: Sent 3:48 AM  
Kid, could you please just wake blaine up and have him call me?  
  
Dad: Sent 3:50 AM  
Kid? Are you still there?  
  
Blaine: Sent 3:55 AM  
false alarm mr. anderson. i thought about it and realized that the wrapper is probably under the sheets with them. theyre cool.  
  
Blaine: Sent 3:56 AM  
and call me kyle. were all men here.  
  
Dad: Sent 3:57 AM  
Kyle. Please.  
  
Blaine: Sent 3:57 AM  
but im more of a man than blaine and kurt.  
  
Dad: Sent 3:58 AM  
Kyle.  
  
Blaine: Sent 3:58 AM  
theyre just getting started manning up  
  
Dad: Sent 3:59 AM  
Kyle  
  
Blaine: Sent 3:59 AM  
if you know what im saying  
  
Dad: Sent 3:59 AM  
Kyle.  
  
Blaine: Sent 4:00 AM  
;)  
  
Dad: Sent 4:00 AM  
KYLE.  
  
Blaine: Sent 4:01 AM  
Mr. Anderson?  
  
Dad: Sent 4:04 AM  
Please make sure he comes home first thing in the morning. Tell him he's not in trouble, we just need to talk about why it's important that he always makes sure he calls._  
  
Kyle smiles at his screen. Maybe Blaine's dad isn't so bad after all. He's just being a concerned parent. When Kyle is an awesome dad one day, he's going to be a concerned parent, too. But cooler than Mr. Anderson.  
  
 _Blaine: Sent 4:06 AM  
sure thing mr. anderson  
  
Blaine: Sent 4:06 AM  
nice talking to you!  
  
Blaine: Sent 4:09 AM  
mr. anderson?  
  
Blaine: Sent 4:13 AM  
mr. anderson?_  
  
Sighing again, Kyle tosses the phone back onto the floor. He will be cooler than Mr. Anderson and also politer. He doesn't understand why some people can't treat others with respect. Kyle's stomach makes an unpleasant rumbling noise and he absently reaches over to the box entrusted to him by Thad.  
  
"Kyle," he says out loud into the quiet room. "You are the best roommate ever. You deserve something in return for your awesomeness. Like whatever-the-hell this awesome-smelling stuff is. Awesome people like awesome food, right?"  
  
"They do!" Kyle answers himself, grabbing the plastic fork and preparing to open the box and help himself. Which is when he hears an iPhone going off on the desk. Groaning, he gets up to find Kurt's phone. The message is an older one.  
  
 _Dad: Sent 12:21 AM  
Hey buddy I know it's late, but is Blaine with you? His mom sounded a little worried._  
  
Kyle rolls his eyes as he turns on the phone and snaps a quick picture of Kurt and Blaine before answering Mr. Hummel. Once the picture is sent he sets the phone to silent and settles down with his leftovers. He falls asleep somewhere around the fourth bite and sleeps like a baby until he's woken up far too early the next morning by a barrage of shoes, textbooks, and other heavy objects being pelted at him from across the room, like it's  _his_  fault parents sometimes get too nosey for their own good.


	6. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. I see that this switched dates on me at some point, instead of posting entirely with a posting date of last March. Sorry about that! I tried, I really did :\

**Some Day**  
  
 _"Kurt, stop pacing," Blaine reaches out a hand and grabs Kurt by the sleeve, pulling him down next to him on the couch. "You're making me nervous."  
  
"Right," Kurt scoffs. "Because you're an island of tranquility right now."  
  
"Touchy," Blaine shoots back, but there's no force behind his words. Kurt's not lying. Blaine's so wired he's fighting the urge to run around their living room in circles. They sit side-by-side in silence for a few more minutes, Kurt staring at the nails he's managed to pick down to jagged stumps in the last few hours, Blaine fidgeting like a kid who just ate ten bags of jelly beans and has been told to sit in the corner until the sugar coma hits. The ticking of the wall clock is unbearably loud.  
  
"I should go make sure her room is ready, we set it up so quickly," Kurt says, shooting to his feet before Blaine can catch him.  
  
"Kurt, _no _," Blaine snaps. "Come back and sit down."  
  
"_Why _?" Kurt demands. "What's wrong with double-checking to make sure everything's perfect?"  
  
"Because you've already checked five times," Blaine says. "If anyone gets to go nervously make sure the bed hasn't fallen into a wormhole it's me. It's my turn."  
  
Kurt narrows his eyes and purses his lips angrily, but Blaine stands his ground until Kurt finally sighs in defeat.  
  
"Fine," he hisses. "Knock yourself out."  
  
"Thanks," Blaine says. "Maybe I will."  
  
He leaves quickly before Kurt can start making fun of him for making no sense. If Kurt even heard what he said at all. They're both a little high strung at the moment, to put it mildly. It's overwhelming to think that, after years and years of talking and planning, they're finally going to get the family they've always wanted. Any minute now, the buzzer to their apartment will go off, and on the other side of the door, they'll have children. On the other side of the door is fatherhood.  
  
Blaine isn't stupid. He knows that Maggie and Marshall won't instantly start calling him and Kurt Dad and Pop, or possibly ever. They won't even function like a real family for a long time. It would be hard enough for an older child to feel at home in a new home, let alone two kids who've been through the mill like these two. There's going to be a lot of things for everyone to get used to, and they've already spotted some serious problems they're going to be up against, even in the few hour-long meetings they've had in the last few months so everyone could get to know each other.  
  
For one thing, they're both insanely protective of each other, and don't do well when they're not in each other's line of sight. Blaine still isn't sure how they'll manage school when Marshall literally panics to the point of inciting physical violence isn't beside him. Social services assured both of them that he was never physically abused or hurt in any way by his birth parents, but his violent tendencies are still the product of abusive behaviour.  
  
"He's spent his whole life watching his sister get kicked around, often under the pretence of being punished for thing that he had done wrong," Nancy told them in their last interview before everything was finalized. "He's not used to having a lot of control in his life, and all he wants to do is protect his sister. He doesn't want to her to get hurt anymore, and he has a lot of anxiety about it. It makes things difficult because at the moment, the person most likely to be hurting Maggie is Maggie."  
  
For her part, Maggie never acts up at all. She's always pleasant and smiling, well-mannered and to be honest, kind of Stepford. There's a nervous tension in everything she does, one that Blaine recognizes all too easily. Everything about Maggie reminds Blaine of himself before he got away from Tom, so much so that he has trouble talking to her, because he can sense how everything he could say to her won't change the way she feels. He still remembers what it was like to wake up every morning assuming someone was going to hurt you, how exhausting and painful it is, and how long it takes to get past that inability to trust. It's obvious the only person she trusts right now is Marshall, and that she's the only one who can be trusted to keep him safe. Behind her mask of passive politeness, everyone is the enemy. Especially Blaine, apparently.  
  
"I'm not imagining things," he tells Kurt, picking up an old conversation when his husband comes into the room, not believing Blaine is able to figure out if the bed is still in the right dimension. It is. "I can see it in her eyes. That girl hates me."  
  
"She doesn't hate you," Kurt insists. "She just doesn't know why Marshall likes you so much."  
  
"Marshall likes me because we both like old _Ninja Turtles _cartoons and we both know the Penguin Pit is the best part of the zoo, and she hates that," Blaine says, deliberately forgetting to mention the conversation they had during their first meeting when he gave Marshall advice on how to stop nightmares – a combination of techniques Dr. Hong once gave him, and things he picked up during late night phone calls from Stevie those first couple years they were back with their families. He's happy that it helped Marshall sleep better at night, and elated that it convinced Marshall to start trusting him, but it makes him nervous when he thinks about how completely Maggie shut him out afterwards, like she was punishing him for coming between her and her brother. Blaine is at a complete loss for how he's supposed to be able to get on her good side – he's always been better at talking to kids than he has been to teenagers.  
  
"It's easier for you," he says. "She's already crazy about you. She might not think of either of us as her parents, but it's pretty obvious you're the one she wishes was her dad."  
  
"I honestly don't know what you're talking about," Kurt insists. "She's just as quiet around me as she is around you."  
  
"But she's not scared of you," Blaine says. "When you're not looking she stares at you like she's not even sure how you can be real. She thinks you're perfect."  
  
"But I never did anything," Kurt protests. "I never tried to make her think anything."  
  
"I know," Blaine smiles, relaxing a little as he takes the moment to enjoy Kurt's bewilderment. "You're just you. You know how to make people feel better about themselves and you never even try. That's the best part."  
  
"What did I say to you?" Kurt asks, smiling back at him, because he's known Blaine long enough to recognize the look on his face when he's remembering something good.  
  
"You didn't say anything," Blaine tells him. "You just treated me like I mattered, and like you really believed it. You saw me, and I'd spent so long hiding in plain sight that being noticed without getting hurt was the most incredible feeling. I couldn't wrap my head around what it was about you for the longest time after, but I knew I wanted to be around you as much as possible."  
  
"So what did I do to Maggie?" Kurt asks, leaning against the doorframe. "Why do you think I'm having any effect on her at all?"  
  
"About 15 minutes into that first meeting you told her she was pretty."  
  
"But she is," Kurt says. "And I told her that earlier, too. So did you."  
  
Blaine nods.  
  
"And after you'd been talking to her for 15 minutes, you said it and didn't realize it, said she looked like someone, I don't even remember who, but you were doing that nervous, rambling stream-of-consciousness thing where you aren't filtering a single word you say, and it's how she knew you meant it."  
  
"Sometimes it hurts that you're so good at understanding loneliness," Kurt says.  
  
"Well I'm not lonely now," Blaine says, reaching out to take Kurt's hand.  
  
The buzzer sounds before their hands connect and Blaine's change course abruptly, going straight to grab at his hair in chaotic panic.  
  
"Oh _fuck _," he says. "I'm a_ dad _."  
  
Kurt laughs at him, just as nervous and excited.  
  
"We should let them in," Blaine says, looking at Kurt almost frantically.  
  
"Yes," says Kurt, and this time he's the one who reaches out to grab Blaine's hand. "We should."_  
  
***  
  
 **For Now**  
  
Blaine spends the next few days unable to keep the happy, stupid grin off his face whenever he thinks about things like winning. Or Kurt. Or feeling like his life is finally at least pointing in the right direction, if nothing else. Or Kurt. He really just spends a lot of time thinking about Kurt, and apparently he's doing a bad job hiding it. Not that he finds he has all that much to hide, thanks to Kurt's stupid roommate's stupid text messages to Blaine's dad.  
  
"At least he didn't send your dad any pictures," Kurt says grimly, and Blaine can't argue with that. It was hard enough for Blaine to walk into the house after finding out that Kyle had sent his father  _way_  too much information as his way of letting Blaine's family know he was safe and sound, but he'd still take it over the picture that had been texted to Burt.   
  
"It was so awkward," Kurt moans more than once. "It was like that time I walked in on him and Carole making out when she was trying to take his shirt off, only worse because  _I_  at least had the common sense not to try to have a heartfelt discussion about it and how it meant they were growing up."  
  
Things still aren't that much better for Blaine, though. Cynthia doesn't fully understand what's been going on, but she _does_  know that her parents are having conversations about Blaine and his boyfriend when they think she isn't listening. Before long she has been told in no uncertain terms that she'll be grounded if she shrieks out the "Blaine and Kurt sitting in a tree" song one more time. His father has awkwardly stumbled to a blushing halt more times than Blaine can count whenever he notices Blaine completely ignoring his lessons on car repair, and tries to talk to him about making sure he doesn't rush anything until he's ready and that "it's okay to take things as slow as you need to" before he invariably pales and rushes to throw in a painfully embarrassing, "not that I have a problem with you and Kurt. I don't. You seem to be good for each other and I don't have a problem with you" or some other mortifying attempt to remind Blaine that he's okay with the fact that Blaine is gay.   
  
Both of these problems are minor compared to his mother, however. Blaine has had nightmares about how his parents might react if they ever caught Kurt and Blaine doing anything with each other. In his mind they've been angry, or sometimes upset, or worst of all, disgusted. But he never anticipated that the worst thing about becoming sexually active would be that his parents might be  _excited_  about it. Mom practically beams every time Kurt's name is mentioned, or when Blaine talks about going on a date, or staying late at school to work on homework, or meeting up with Lima friends to go shopping, like suddenly every single thing he says might be code for "I'm going to go have more sex with my boyfriend now."   
  
She looks at them happily and every moment she's in the room she looks like she's going to start talking about her first time, or give advice on fun things they can do the next time they're feeling "frisky." Blaine can't tell if she's just elated that he doesn't seem to be broken because of how he's grown up, or if she's screwing with him and secretly wants to embarrass the hell out of him. She's so bad Kurt won't even go into the house until Blaine manages to make her promise she won't say anything when Kurt is there. Blaine would like to make it so she won't say anything when he's there either, but she looks so perplexed when he tells her to knock it off, like she can't for the life of her figure out why he doesn't appreciate the way she's started giving him really pointed, somehow impossibly suggestive thumbs up whenever she catches him spacing out.  
  
"I feel my soul leave my body every time she does it," he mutters to Dad.  
  
Dad just sighs resignedly.  
  
"Cynthia has to get that personality from someone," he says. "It took me a year and a half to ask your mother out, just because I knew when I finally got the courage to do it, I'd be bombarded with inappropriate sex jokes. I blame Lola."  
  
"Why date her at all?" Blaine asks. Not that he's sad he exists or anything, just that sometimes he doesn't understand his dad's apparent need to punish himself.  
  
"Because when I used to date other girls, they all seemed so boring," he answers, smiling a little to himself. "Your mom can be a lot of things, but boring isn't one of them."  
  
Blaine privately labels his father a masochist, but it's still sweet.  
  
Intermittent death by embarrassment aside, for the next three weeks Blaine's life is almost as well-balanced and normal as he thinks the lives of most teenage boys are. He's in love, he's mostly happy, even when there's nothing to distract him, and for the first time since he was seven, Tom Brenner isn't the first and last thing he thinks about every single day. Deep down, he knows things are going too well to last.  
  
Blaine gets home late one evening to find Lauren Zizes, of all people, sitting on his couch next to his parents, her hands balled up into angry fists resting tensely in her lap.  
  
"Welcome to America, Anderson," she snaps as soon as Blaine walks inside. "Here in the New World, we have these magical pocket boxes called  _cell phones_. You should look into them."  
  
"Sorry," Blaine says, slowly. "My car charger's broken."  
  
"Why didn't you say anything?" Mom asks at once. "We could have gotten you another one."  
  
Her voice is just a little too loud, like she's trying to hide how upset she is but isn't quite succeeding. Remarkably, the only person in the room who doesn't look like he's about to fly to pieces is his dad. Blaine directs his next question to him.  
  
"What's wrong? What happened?"  
  
"That little cretin Jacob signed his own death warrant is what happened," Lauren snaps.  
  
It takes Blaine a full minute and a half before he realizes she means Muckraker Jacob from back at McKinley, and for someone like Lauren to drive all the way to Westerville when she can't get Blaine on the phone, it's not hard to figure out what's going on.  
  
"Did he sell an interview about me?" He asks, cautiously. "To where? Where could he have possibly gotten anything to talk about?"  
  
"He didn't sell anything," his dad says. "Without something new to talk about, no one would have been interested anyhow. The news media has a short memory, and by now you're an old story."  
  
"So he gave them something to talk about?" Blaine says, cautiously as he tries to remember to breathe in through his nose. It suddenly feels like he's not getting enough air.  
  
"Jacob broke into my locker yesterday," Lauren say, and she sounds so impossibly mad Blaine's actually scared to make eye contact with her. "I don't know how he knew, but I burned the video I made of Vocal Adrenaline getting annihilated at Sectionals onto a DVD so Puck could show it to the rest of the glee club at their meeting today. It was sitting in there when I went to my first class and when I came back to switch textbooks it was gone. 'Hold Me' went up on his blog this afternoon."  
  
Blaine's heart starts hammering in his chest as she explains. Performing it in front of an audience had been agonizing, but it was a one-time thing, in a room full of people who were intimidating, but controllable. Even if someone he didn't know took footage of it, it would have been on a crappy camera phone, with bad sound and poor quality. He thinks about the camera Lauren was using, and how she and Artie could talk for hours about filmmaking and documentaries. He wonders how good the footage is.  
  
Blaine must have been staring blankly in quiet terror longer than he realizes, because he starts when he feels his mother's hand gently on his shoulder, suddenly standing next to him with a worried expression on her face.  
  
"Are you okay?" She asks.  
  
"It's just Jacob's blog," he says, finally. "I mean, everyone hates him, right? Who even looks at his blog? No one will care."  
  
Neither Mom or Lauren will answer or even look at him, so finally Dad sighs and says,  
  
"It went viral, Blaine. We've been getting calls all afternoon from everyone. Worried friends and family, curiosity seekers, and even a couple reporters who have our number on file from back when we used to release all those statements trying to find you. They're leading with the video when the previews for the late night news run, and the video already has almost 300, 000 views on YouTube where Jacob posted it. We didn't know how it happened until Lauren showed up."  
  
"Blaine," Lauren says, standing up, upset now instead of angry. It's the first time Blaine's ever heard her say his first name. "I'm  _so_  sorry. I don't think he even knew you were at Sectionals. He just grabbed the DVD and lucked out. I never would have even made the damn thing if I'd known that it would get out like that."  
  
Blaine nods, dazed. He isn't mad at her, or even Jacob really. Maybe it's because he's been expecting something to happen for weeks now, the nearer the trial date inches to meet them, but in this one moment, he can only think of one thing.  
  
"How bad is it?" He finally manages.  
  
Lauren frowns.   
  
"It's bad, Blaine. Your dad just told you,  _everyone's_  watching it."  
  
"No," Blaine says, shaking his head a little. "How... Does it make me look bad?"  
  
"It's not bad at all," Lauren says, fiercely. "You sound like a rock star. You won, didn't you?"  
  
Blaine smiles faintly at her, because he already knew he  _performed_  well, but at the same time he knows no one watching the video gives a shit about how he's singing. They'll care about the healthy, smart teenager, singing a song that's clearly referring to his already disputed past to win a singing competition. They're going to see a liar, trying to cash in a story he told to the police so he wouldn't get in trouble for running away.  
  
Blaine excuses himself and after being subjected to a terrifying hug from a still-seething Lauren, goes to hide in the study, sitting down at the computer with his name typed in on Google. The second result in the drop down menu is "Blaine Anderson singing". He doesn't hit the enter key, just sits there and quietly panics, wondering what people are saying about him, thinking he should have run off the stage after all. Not worrying about how this would look if the news ever found out about it was the dumbest thing he's ever done. It was stupid to think he could join the Warblers and sing with them on a stage without anyone reminding him that he's not like the rest of his friends. He hasn't earned the right to be normal like they have.  
  
He still hasn't moved when the door opens and Cynthia marches in, a vaguely pissed off Mrs. Frisby in her arms, back feet almost trailing on the ground as she's dragged along by her armpits.  
  
"Why are you in here instead of talking to your scary friend?" Cynthia demands. "I bet if you went out somewhere she'd go with you."  
  
"Why don't you like Lauren?" Blaine asks, happy for something to tear his eyes away from the monitor.  
  
"She's loud," Cynthia says. "And she sounds mean."  
  
" _You're_  loud, and you actually  _are_  mean," Blaine points out to her.  
  
"I'm not mean," Cynthia sniffs imperiously. "I'm self-actualized. Rachel says it's healthy."  
  
"Rachel thinks a lot of dumb things," Blaine says. "She's also never seen you kick a little boy in the crotch because he cut in the line for the monkey bars."  
  
"I didn't  _do_  that," Cynthia insists, an irritating whine immediately finding its way into her voice. "And Kevin  _always_ cuts. It's  _his_  fault."  
  
They're both interrupted by a very displeased meow and Blaine looks at Mrs. Frisby properly for the first time since his sister wandered into the room.  
  
"Cynthia," he says. "Is the cat wearing lingerie?"  
  
"No," Cynthia says, angrily. "She's wearing mom's pretty pyjamas."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"How should I know?"   
  
Blaine just rolls his eyes and reaches over to grab the cat from her arms so he can pull the frilly garment off of her, refusing to let himself think about the implications behind his mother owning such an item. Mrs. Frisby starts to purr appreciatively and pace back and forth on his lap like she's going to get ready to lie down and take a nap. She quickly changes her mind and runs for the other side of the room when Cynthia tries to join her. Blaine wonders when his lap became a parking lot.  
  
"What are you looking at?" She asks, carefully reading the screen out to herself. Cynthia has found out that years of bedtime stories, educational games, and being forced to sing the alphabet at home mean she's a better reader than everyone else in the second grade, and the feeling of superiority has led to a spike in her interest in words. "Are you on the Internet? I want to see!"  
  
She hits enter before Blaine can fully register what she's even doing and when the next page loads, there are dozens of news articles on the top of the page: "Alleged Kidnapping Victim Goes Viral" and "Controversy Over New YouTube Sensation" and worst of all, "Opportunist Cashes in on Fame?" But Cynthia only has a seven-year-old's reading comprehension and even less patience, so she quickly clicks on the first video result that comes up.  
  
A newscaster is gazing somberly at the camera, her voice serious as she says,  
  
"While alleged kidnapper Thomas Brenner is currently waiting behind bars for his day in court, one of his alleged victims is experiencing unexpected fame thanks to the power of online social media."  
  
A picture of him hugging Stevie flashes onto the screen. Blaine winces a little. It's bad enough that he's on the news. He wishes they would leave Stevie out of it.  
  
"16-year-old Blaine Anderson has told authorities that he was forced to stay with Brenner for a period of over eight years, claiming Brenner lied to him and coerced him into staying with him for years – claims Brenner has vehemently denied, telling authorities he believed he was saving the boy from a volatile home situation."   
  
A still picture of Brenner being led into booking shows up on the screen as words scroll past beside him.  
  
"Brenner has publicly stated in an earlier interview, 'I see now that I made a mistake with what I did for Blaine. But what happened between us was not twisted or immoral. We loved each other like family and nothing he feels pressured into saying now can change that. He was like a son to me.' Brenner's self-made family came crashing down when he attempted to expand it by adding 8 year old Steven Evans to their number, an act which ultimately resulted in Anderson personally taking the young boy out of the house and to authorities. Now as the trial of his accused captor draws closer, Anderson is once more finding himself in the public eye."  
  
The screen cuts to footage of Blaine singing on the Carmel stage and unfortunately, the quality is as good as he was afraid it would be. They've decided to use the second verse – the one spot where he could never quite manage to keep the shaking out of his voice: "You are fading further from me." Blaine's chest feels unnaturally tight watching it.  
  
"Footage leaked onto YouTube earlier today showing Anderson performing for an audience with fellow students from his Westerville High School has taken the internet by storm. The uploader, who claims to be a former classmate and friend of Anderson, has disabled commenting after being inundated with both messages of support for Anderson, and messages condemning him for, quote, 'making a mockery of real abuse victims by trying to cash in on their pain.' End quote. Both the Anderson family and the prosecution for the case against Brenner have declined to make a comment, but in a written statement, Brenner's defense lawyer said, 'I am unfamiliar with all the facts surrounding this issue and am unable to give a proper comment at this time, but I will say that if this video has been released with any intent to sabotage the upcoming trial or influence the case in the prosecution's favour, it is a dark day for American justice, where the law states every man is innocent until proven guilty.'"  
  
Blaine reaches past Cynthia and shuts it off.  
  
"She kept talking over the song," Cynthia says. "I don't care about what she thinks. I wanted to hear."  
  
"Everyone is going to think I'm just trying to get people to notice me now," Blaine mutters, trying hard to control his breathing. "They'll think all I want is attention."  
  
"You should," Cynthia says calmly, remaining on his lap as she opens up the Games folder in the browser, swinging her legs a little and kicking Blaine in the shins.  
  
"I should what?" Blaine asks, reaching down and grabbing an ankle before his legs start turning purple.  
  
"Make people notice you," Cynthia says. "Everyone wants to talk to you anyhow, so if you have something you want to talk to them about, you should just say it."  
  
"It doesn't work like that," Blaine mutters. "I want them to believe me but I don't want to have to tell them anything about what happened."  
  
"That's stupid," Cynthia says, clicking a link over and over, like it will make everything load faster. "You can't get in trouble unless someone tells on you. If Kevin was as stupid as you are, Mom wouldn't have taken away my  _My Little Ponies_  and forced me to write an 'I'm Sorry' letter."  
  
"You deserved it," Blaine says, but Cynthia only shrugs unconcernedly.  
  
"Not as much as the man who took you away deserves to get in trouble," she says. When Cynthia is the one telling him what he needs to do, everything sounds like it's simple and easy to understand. Nothing is hard to understand when you're seven and lucky enough not to have your future stolen from you by a psychopath.  
  
"Read to me," she demands, settling back against his chest and making herself comfortable. Blaine is suddenly struck by how quickly she's gotten used to having a brother, when to him having a little sister is such a new feeling. Cynthia has no trouble bossing him around and telling him what she does and doesn't find acceptable about him. He still doesn't know how to get what he wants in these interactions with her though, which is mainly how to get out of them.  
  
"I think you should wait to play this until you can read all the words on the screen," Blaine suggests, keeping the "or until you go back in time to become a small child in the 1980s" unspoken with a great amount of effort on his part.  
  
"No," Cynthia is firm. "I want to catch Carmen Sandiego. I want to see her hat."  
  
Blaine is debating leaving her on her own, randomly picking places on the map to go to as she gets progressively angrier at the ACME agents who somehow continually slip past her despite her meticulous investigative approach, but then the phone starts ringing. From the other room he can hear Dad pick it up and bark out something shortly before hanging up hard. For the time being, placating Cynthia seems like a better option than facing reality, and so he stays where he is.  
  
***  
  
Things go from really bad to a lot worse by the time the weekend rolls around. What was once an irritating stream of phone calls from people who had managed to get his home number suddenly turns into constant harassment and media coverage when Jacob decides to upload more footage from the DVD, mainly the hug Blaine gave Kurt before going off stage and the quick peck on the cheek Kurt gave him when they were given their trophy.  
  
The few news outlets who had ignored the story before are quick to start calling in experts and psychologists who are always introduced with the disclaimer that they "are not personally connected with the case" to talk about the long-term side effects of Stockholm Syndrome and the potential problems that might be waiting a sex abuse survivor in any future relationships.  
  
"It's like a person having sex after they've been raped is a revolutionary concept," he spits at Kurt over Skype Saturday evening. They're keeping Kurt's phone free in case of an emergency since the Hudson-Hummel landline has been disconnected. Someone posted Kurt's name and hometown online and once the anonymous corner of the internet got a hold of it, the phone calls have been non-stop. Kurt waves it off, telling Blaine that until people start ordering hundreds of pizzas in his name, it could always be worse, but Blaine still feels awful about how his life is ruining Kurt's.  
  
"Of course it's not a new concept," Kurt says, calmly. "50% percent of all Very Special made for TV movies are about how women pick up and move on with their lives after they get raped. People love a good romance story. That's all this is."  
  
"Should I think it's cute or insulting that you actually think I'll believe you when you say that?" Blaine asks. "You know as well as I do that if I was a girl, no one would be asking if the fact that I'm seeing someone is a sign that I'm still trying to act the way Tom trained me, or if I was faking and it's proof that I wanted it once I hit puberty. I'm gay and now they all think he made me that way. It's so stupid."  
  
"I'm just happy you're getting mad about it instead of believing it along with everyone else," Kurt says, which makes Blaine pause for a second. He's never thought about what his issues with being gay would have sounded like if he'd admitted them aloud to anyone. He sort of wishes he had, because maybe then he would have worked out why they were insane a lot sooner.  
  
"At least I had a good excuse," Blaine mutters, finally. "If Tom brainwashed me at all, he brainwashed me into believing I was a freak for half my life. I earned my idiot logic. What happened to them to give them a free pass?"  
  
"If it bothers you so much, maybe you should talk to someone about it," Kurt says.  
  
"Talk to who?" Blaine asks. "Dr. Hong? I'm on it."  
  
"No," Kurt says, hesitantly. "Maybe you should do an interview with someone. Give them your side of the story?"  
  
"Are you insane?" Blaine demands. "Kurt, they would eat me alive. There is no way I am ever going to talk to anyone in the media about what happened to me. It would just make everything worse."  
  
"I know why you don't want to," Kurt says, quickly. "And I would  _never_  hold it against you if you didn't. It's just a thought, that's all."  
  
"Why would you even think that's a good idea?" Blaine says, trying not to let his eyes water. He feels betrayed in a strange way. He never thought Kurt would ever say anything like this to him.  
  
"You just..." Kurt falters. "You keep saying that people don't understand and that they're buying into things that are awful and ugly and wrong. And you're right. But, even though anyone who looks at what happened with half a brain knows how terrible they're being, no one ever tells them that. Maybe they keep getting away with it because no one's called them on it, or given them a good enough soundbite to prove why they're being idiots."  
  
"Maybe I could just call a press conference and start having sex with you in front of everyone while I give a running commentary on how Tom really isn't the person I think about when we're sleeping with each other."  
  
There's a strangled choking sound from Kurt's side of the conversation as Kurt suddenly drops out of the webcam's field of vision. Every now and then Blaine can see his shoulders shake or hear some muffled wheezing. When he finally resurfaces his entire face is red, and Blaine can tell it's not just from laughing.  
  
"You're adorable," he says, smiling at Blaine.  
  
"I wasn't really going for adorable," Blaine says, but Kurt is looking at him like he just broke out of a petting zoo and he can tell it's no use. It's barely been a month, but ever since the night they won Sectionals, they've been getting more and more adventurous with each other in the bedroom. It's like he's been introduced to a whole new side of Kurt's personality since they've started, like he knows Kurt so much better than he did before.  
  
It's not even like they've done anything that often. It's still hard to find spare time to fool around when they have privacy after all, and in all honesty, sometimes Blaine panics when they're trying something different and they have to back off. One night when Kurt had been running his hands up and down Blaine's lower back and thighs, lazily tugging Blaine's pants down, his hand brushed just a little too far down the cleft of Blaine's ass and it was like someone had thrown cold water on him. It was like the sensory memories that came over Blaine, however brief, were so vivid that anything more than hand holding was suddenly off the table, even though Kurt had only been mirroring the motions of Blaine's own hands at the time. It was humiliating.  
  
"I didn't think it would be a problem," he had said, shaking a little as Kurt stroked his hair, reassuring him, "It's fine, it's fine," erection completely forgotten. It had been like Blaine suddenly started thinking about every night with Tom after there was a fight and couldn't stop – all those times when he would lie in bed with the covers pulled as tightly around him as he could manage, back to the door so he didn't spend the entire night imagining he could see it opening. Like he was still completely alone and waiting for an unwelcome body to shift the mattress behind him, as hands he still has nightmares about moved to touch him.   
  
It's maddening that even the memory of Tom can keep Blaine from trying things with Kurt that he wants to do, but Kurt never gets disappointed or annoyed.  
  
"If you're not ready to do one thing, we'll do something else," he says calmly. "And if we ever start something I'm not comfortable with, that's fine, too. For now let's just have fun doing the things we're okay with?"  
  
Blaine is certain it's thanks to Kurt's patience and ability to help Blaine set his guilt to the side that having fun is even an option at all. And they are having fun. Blaine had never known sex could be so much fun, but Kurt is surprisingly creative for someone who blushes so easily. The quick handjobs when they have a few minutes alone are fantastic, but nowhere near as good as the evening they go to the birthday party Santana is throwing for Brittany and spend the entire party in one of the bedrooms, almost systematically going over each other's bodies to see if they can find other parts of their bodies that turn each other on. They make bets on who will have the weirdest erogenous zone.  
  
"It's totally going to be you," Kurt says. "You've got Elbow Flap Fetish written all over you."  
  
"Please," Blaine says. "Like you don't wear those ridiculously tight jeans in the pathetic hope that someone's going to brush against your hamstrings."  
  
They're having such a good time it's almost worth the very end when they're interrupted by Brittany walking in and happily sitting down to watch once she sorts out what's going on.  
  
"You guys are like watching my Care Bears lying on top of each other," she says once they're back downstairs, far too loudly. "It's like you're all fluff and no dick. It's really cute."  
  
"Oh God," Kurt mutters, dropping his head into his hands. Brittany purses her lips and pats him on the shoulder worriedly.  
  
"No it's okay," she says earnestly. "You'll see. Sometimes no dick is really nice. You can never have the best kind of sex when there's a dick in the way, where Santana puts her tongue – "  
  
The conversation is mercifully cut short by a fast-moving Santana who almost tackles Brittany to the floor in her desperation to clap a hand over her mouth. Blaine wistfully remembers the days when Brittany was with Artie, although as Kurt is more than happy to remind him when he brings it up later, when Brittany was with Artie they got to hear about the best way to ride someone in a wheelchair.  
  
Blaine is happy Brittany enjoys her sex life; he just wishes she didn't feel the need to explain in excruciating detail what specific acts make her so happy. Barring Puck, he's pretty sure most of their friends feel the same way.

***

Christmas is very nearly the death of Blaine. The problem is that, while he is mentally prepared to deal with the emotion of his first Christmas back home, he isn't expecting to have to deal with all the Christmases he missed at the same time. In the days leading up to the 25th of December, he watches the living room fill up with more and more presents labelled for him with growing alarm.  
  
"Why are there so many?" He asks. His mom rubs him on the shoulder happily.  
  
"You were gone a long time," she says simply.  
  
"You bought me presents  _every_  year?" Blaine is a little terrified when he starts to think of everything he'll be forced to sit down and open Christmas morning. All the eyes that will be watching him as he exhumes the childhood he never got, trying not to look as devastated as he's sure he'll feel.  
  
"Blaine?" Mom is starting to look worried. "Are you okay? I know there's a lot, but it's not so bad. We scaled back a lot after that first year you were gone. The first year Dad and I went all out and bought you absolutely everything you had been asking for. We were convinced that we would find you by Christmas morning and wanted to show you how badly you'd been missed. But you didn't come home, and soon we were more worried about putting money into finding you than buying presents, so we limited it to one gift a year after that, from each of us – and from Cynthia too, when she came along. But your grandparents all gave you things each year, too, and some family friends. It adds up."  
  
"There's so much," is all Blaine can manage to say as the sinking feeling inside of him gets worse and harder to ignore. Opening a ridiculous amount of new presents would be hard enough, but something about digging through piles of gifts in front of an audience, opening memories that aren't his, makes him want to ask Kurt if he can hide at his house for the holidays.  
  
Mom tries to make it better when she realizes how badly it's bothering him, offering that they just keep the important presents for Christmas morning and open the smaller things now. Except everything is an important present. One is the gift his grandmother gave to him the first year he was gone, and another is the last present his best friend in elementary school bought for him before he moved to Columbus. Everything carries a value for his mother that makes everything too important to open before everyone is there to watch. Blaine starts to feel like there are bugs crawling around inside his chest whenever he walks past the tree. He tries not to let his anxiety show, but sometimes he can't help it.  
  
When Lola arrives two days before Christmas with Blaine's other grandparents, she realizes what his problem is almost immediately, after just two minutes of listening to Mom's plans and honest-to-God printed-out schedule for Christmas morning.   
  
"Really Diane," she says, in a tone that even Blaine has to admit is pretty condescending, despite the fact that she's taking his side. "If he says he doesn't want to open them, why should he? He's not a little boy. What's he going to do with a little boy's presents?"  
  
Mom's response is a little less than gracious,  
  
"You can't just come in here and start telling me what to do anymore, Mother. This isn't your house and he's not your son."  
  
Lola almost looks contrite, but when Blaine apologises for getting her into trouble later on, she waves him off unconcernedly.  
  
"Your mother has always been crazy around holidays," she says. "She likes to throw a party but panics when it doesn't go the way she pictures it. She'll get over it, she always does."  
  
"You fight a lot?" Blaine asks, and Lola pats him on the cheek.  
  
"Always," she says. "One day you'll get used to having her back and start fighting with her just as much as I do. It's how we show affection in this family."  
  
"Mom says you always say that so you don't have to make yourself a better person," Cynthia says from where she has been glued to Lola's side ever since the woman walked into the house.  
  
"Hmmm," says Lola, her eyes flashing just a little as she mulls the comment over. She seems calm enough, but Blaine considers driving out to Lima for the evening, just in case.  
  
It's the concentrated efforts of Dad and all his grandparents combined that end up saving him from the Christmas from Hell. They team up to talk to Mom and convince her that in this scenario, giving back might be better than "ruining Blaine's first Christmas home with a selfish and immature attitude." That last bit had been Lola's contribution, and had almost ruined the entire mission until Dad got things back on track. As a result of his efforts, on Christmas Eve he and Blaine are able to load up the car with the countless boxes and drive them over to a local homeless shelter. Blaine even spots his dad sneaking in the odd present with birthday paper on it but wisely chooses not to mention it.  
  
"Is Mom really angry?" Blaine asks before they leave. Lola makes a noise of derision.  
  
"You mother is always angry at Christmas," she says. "I told you. Even before you left. It hardly counts anymore. These presents are yours and if you don't want them, that's up to you. I mostly bought you underwear anyhow. You can't use any of it. I'll open a nice bottle of wine from the liquor cabinet to go with dinner and pretend I brought it as a gift. She'll forgive us all. You'll see."  
  
She's not wrong.  
  
"Your grandmother is so cool," Kurt says that night as they talk over Skype, his eyes lighting up like someone's just told him Taylor Lautner came out of the closet especially to woo him.   
  
"I know, I know," Blaine says, rolling his eyes a little. It's not that he doesn't agree, but since she's shown up for the holidays, Lola has quickly become the only thing his friends talk about. Everyone's a fan. Even David has called up to chat and wish him season's greetings only to not-so-subtly suggest that Lola "might want to try using Skype for the first time. She'd love it. Put her on."   
  
It all starts not long after his grandparents arrive, when some crazy Bible-thumping evangelist with his own network comes under fire in the mainstream media for using pictures of Blaine and Kurt hugging at Sectionals for a segment on his show called "The Sickness of Sodom: Protecting Our Children." Blaine, in his newfound cynicism towards the media, doesn't see how mainstream news is treating him any better than the crazy pastor, but they evidently think otherwise, probably because the story coincides with a newly released report on teen suicide in the queer community, making everyone want to look as supportive and opposed to homophobia as possible. The day after the story breaks Rachel shows up on his doorstep with trays full of vegan cupcakes and a pinched expression on her face. Lola is in the kitchen with a matching expression, trying to impress upon his other grandparents lessons about equality they already know. The two of them bond instantly over furtive plans to rope the senior's lodge and the Lima chapter of PFLAG into a massive letter-writing campaign to promote education and awareness.  
  
"Your dads can explain why the people with the Jesus theme parks are destroying America," Lola says happily, as Blaine tries to ignore the rapt expressions on Kurt's and Rachel's faces as they listen. "And the ladies in our quilting circle will write about how everyone knows the gay-hating Christians are only like that because they know no gay man would have them. They want anal sex and they are not getting it. Someone needs to tell them they're not fooling us before they embarrass themselves even more."  
  
"I don't know if that's true," Rachel says, cautiously. Lola just smiles at her.  
  
"Of course it's true, sweetie. You ask your daddies. No one thinks about gay sex that much unless they want it. Or want to watch. Sometimes what you really want is to watch."  
  
"I thought you just did a miscellaneous craft night, I didn't know you were part of a quilting circle," Kurt comments, in an attempt to steer the conversation towards less mentally-scarring waters. Blaine wants to know why his boyfriend knows so much about his grandmother's social life.  
  
"That's on Thursdays," Lola says dismissively. "On Tuesdays we quilt and talk about the new show Agnes's granddaughter lent to us. It's lovely. Young people make appalling life choices that I wish had been available to me."  
  
She breaks off and laughs loudly, in a way that is at once both terrifying and hypnotic.  
  
"There are two girls on it who are just  _precious_. Such a nice-looking pair. It's a shame they can't get each other pregnant, because their children would be lovely. We're making a commemorative quilt for them with a moped and empty liquor bottles on it. Gay people are much better with British accents. Blaine, I think if you started using one, people would stop having issues with you. But I suppose that's not the point. You shouldn't have to be foreign to find acceptance."  
  
The next day, Rachel comes back and brings her fathers with her. They don't leave for four hours.  
  
From that point on, the Legend of Lola is something Blaine just has to resign himself to. Where ever Lola goes, crowds of admirers seem to follow. Neighbours pop over for unexpected visits at least twice a day. Warblers show up for impromptu performances on the front lawn. Mercedes invites herself over to have tea like it's an everyday occurrence. It's hilarious and exhausting, but in the end Blaine thinks that maybe anything that gets some of the attention off of him is the best present he could ever be given.  
  
When it finally arrives, Christmas is a mostly relaxed affair, with his friends' focus mostly landing on Lola, and his family's focus going to Cynthia, who has so much sugar in her body by the time they're ready to open gifts she requires six pairs of eyes on her at all times to make sure she doesn't burn the house down. On the occasions when he starts to feel like people are staring at him a little too long, or talking about him when he's out of the room, he tries to offset the feeling by imagining what his Christmases will be like when it's just him and Kurt, and no one's treating him like he's been missing and they can't believe he's back. When it's just him and Kurt, everything will be new without any ugly history getting in the way. He doesn't even realize the implications of dreaming about a future with Kurt until well after the fact and when he does, he can't bring himself to worry about it much.  
  
***  
  
It would be nice if Christmas marked the end of Blaine's issues with being watched by people. His life would be so much easier if he just taught himself not to care, but as soon as the decorations have been put back into their boxes, the talk almost immediately shifts to his birthday. Combined with all the media attention suddenly being focused on him again, the effect is stifling. He didn't know he'd been born in February, hasn't even thought about his birthday since his return back home, and now people are asking him what he wants, and how it feels to be almost 17.  
  
"I'm younger than I thought," he manages when Dad asks the question.  
  
"What?" Dad smiles, cautiously, like he knows he won't like the answer but is pretending things are alright anyway. "Did you think we'd missed it? You had to have known that we wouldn't let your birthday go by uncelebrated, right?"  
  
"I thought you had," Blaine says, helplessly. "I don't remember any of my birthdays. I didn't know it was in February."   
  
"You forgot your own birthday?" Cynthia sounds horrified. "How did you know when to have parties?"  
  
"I didn't," Blaine says. "We didn't do stuff like that. How am I not 17 yet?"   
  
He feels panicked.   
  
"I'm supposed to be a senior this year. February is past the age cut-off."  
  
"They bumped you up a year in the first grade," Dad says, gently, trying not to let the worry show on his face. "You really don't remember? I can't believe you never asked."  
  
"If you didn't have parties when did you have cake and presents?" Cynthia demands, her voice shaking a little.   
  
"I never got cakes," Blaine says, and a corner of his mind wishes he was able to find the humour in each person in the room having his or her own individual crisis over this newest twist to the soap opera that is Blaine's life, but as it is, he's just glad his mother is out grocery shopping and won't be contributing until later on.  
  
"He never gave you presents?" Cynthia repeats, and it's strange that  _this_  is the first time she's ever fully registered that Blaine has had a shitty life, despite the fact that he knows his parents have talked to her repeatedly about what's happened to him on at least a general level. He's even seen his old Stranger Danger books in her room, but this seems to be the first piece of information she's been given that she's been able to relate to on any level and suddenly she's staring at him like she's going to burst into tears.  
  
"He gave me things," Blaine says, quickly in an attempt to avoid the waterworks. "Just not for birthdays."   
  
It's not a lie. Tom spoiled him rotten when it came to giving Blaine toys and, when he got older, the latest technology and video games.  
  
"You got presents for nothing?" Cynthia asks, trying to process what he's telling her, trying to find a silver lining.   
  
"No," Blaine says, evasively. "I had to work for it."  
  
"Like chores?" Cynthia asks, getting over her near-brush with hysteria and firing off questions like he's under interrogation. He has no idea what to say to her and he's so uncomfortable about the possibility of having to explain things, he wants to find the nearest cliff and throw himself off of it. Fortunately Dad finally comes out of his shocked daze to pick up on what's going on and save him the trouble of answering.  
  
"Not like chores, Cynthia. Blaine means that he felt like he had to do things that made him uncomfortable every time Brenner gave him anything."  
  
"Like take a bath?" Cynthia asks, so quickly it almost sounds like she's trying to trick him into revealing something with about as much tact and finesse as he's come to expect from her. Which is when Blaine figures out the little shit is trying to make him uneasy on purpose, like some twisted sort of payback for making her feel pity for once in her self-centered little life.  
  
"Enough Cynthia," Dad says. "You know what I mean. We've talked about this. Quit bothering your brother and go play in your room."   
  
Cynthia shoots both of them a baleful look before getting up and slowly walking out with an air of injured dignity that could only have been learned from the cat.  
  
"She's gotten so nosey," Mom frowns later on that evening when she finds out about what happened. "I don't know what her problem is."  
  
Blaine is feeling more gracious towards his sister now that some time has passed and offers a conciliatory,  
  
"Maybe it's just a phase? Kurt said that a couple days ago Stacey asked Sam's girlfriend why she was so fat."  
  
Mom winces a little but admits,  
  
"It shouldn't make me feel better to know that she's not the only one testing boundaries this way, but–"  
  
"Oh no, she is," Blaine interrupts, because he's not feeling  _that_  gracious yet. "Stacey got an hour long lecture in front of a Vogue magazine from Quinn and Mercedes about body types in the media. Now they're just trying to stop her from going up to overweight people in the supermarket to tell them it's okay because big is beautiful. Everyone's still embarrassed but she's not doing it to make people feel bad anymore. Cynthia just likes trying to bully people."  
  
"But moving on from sisters," Mom says pointedly, "what  _do_  you want to do for your birthday? Lola told me she'd have my head on a platter if she heard that I pulled the same thing I did for Christmas, but it is your first one back with us. We've been waiting for it for a long time."  
  
"Do we have to do anything?" Blaine asks quietly, forcing himself to ignore the way her face falls and concentrating on keeping his voice from wavering. "I don't mean – I know it's important to you, but I don't really want anything. I want to stay home with all of you and maybe Kurt and just... hide. I don't want... sometimes I feel like I'm all anyone talks about and I hate it. I don't need anything for my birthday, but what I  _want_  is to spend one day where it feels like not everything is about me and my life."  
  
Mom pulls him into a hug and holds him until he assumes she starts to feel a little better before finally saying,  
  
"I think we can work something out."  
  
Blaine's birthday is perfect when it arrives: a little sad, but non-descript, low-key, and he doesn't leave the house or turn on the television once the entire time. Even though Kurt complains somewhat loudly about empty calories when Cynthia drags him out to the nearest Dairy Queen for an ice cream cake after it comes out that Blaine can't remember even trying one before, it ends up being one of the best days Blaine's had since Jacob posted the video.  
  
***  
  
Kurt gets his acceptance letter to NYU in the beginning of March, just when he'd morosely given up on hearing back from anyone. The trial is scheduled to start in a couple months and if it were anything else distracting him from the panic and fear that stops him cold whenever he thinks about seeing Tom again and testifying, Blaine would have welcomed it with open arms. Now he's just struck with the horrifying realization that just because his life is so abnormal, it doesn't stop him from having normal problems along with all the other ones. Suddenly their plans for the future are more than just unattainable possibilities, they're actually happening. Kurt's really leaving next fall to go live in New York, and if everything works the way they assume it will, Blaine will eventually join him. Even when the trial is over now, his life still won't be what he wants it to be and it makes Blaine want to hide under a blanket with all the lights out. He just wants his life to slow down while the people he loves all stay in the same place. Still, he tries his hardest to be happy for Kurt and when that fails, he settles for trying to at least act like he's happy. Kurt's so elated it takes a while for him to notice.  
  
"It's your second choice," Blaine smiles. "That's really good, Kurt."  
  
"It's almost like a first choice," Kurt admits, taking out the letter to look at it again for the fourth time since he walked into the room. He holds it like it's made of gold. "I never had enough extracirriculars my senior year to make NYADA happen anyhow."  
  
"Sorry about that," Blaine mutters, trying not to let too much guilt show in his voice.  
  
"Enough," Kurt says in a warning voice, because this is a fight they've had before. "I already told you, what I did with my time this year was my decision and I don't regret any of it. The Dalton drama department doesn't believe in giving out lead roles to students who haven't worked their way through the system the entire four years anyhow. I wasn't even expecting to get into the NYU drama program, so can we focus on that, please?"  
  
Blaine feels a little better when Kurt promises him this is the way it would have been anyhow, like he always does, but it doesn't make him feel better about the larger issues. Kurt evidently knows that too, because he finally looks at Blaine a little sadly as he pulls him into a one-armed hug and sighs,  
  
"It's only going to be a semester, Blaine. Then you'll be coming up to join me for the Winter semester. We've managed long distance so far, right?"  
  
"Lima isn't New York, Kurt," Blaine says. "You go to school here. I see you every day."  
  
He looks at Kurt a little helplessly.  
  
"One semester feels like it could be a long time."  
  
"But we'll get through it," Kurt says, confidently.  
  
"And when we've gotten through it, it means I have to leave them again," Blaine says, gesturing vaguely to his bedroom as Kurt's face softens in comprehension. "They just got me back. It doesn't seem fair."  
  
"Blaine," Kurt says, slowly. "You know it's okay if you don't want to go to NYU with me, right? You shouldn't move away from your family if you don't want to. Long distance relationships are hard, but they're still better than you doing something for me you don't want to do. I don't want you to end up resenting me for anything."  
  
"I don't know what I want," Blaine says, after a long pause. "I  _want_  to go to New York, and it's not just something I want to do for you. I love the idea of a place where people won't notice me the same way. I don't want to hide exactly, but I'm so tired of people staring at me where ever I go. So many people in New York get to be famous for what they've done, what they  _want_  to be known for. There are so many other people to look at there, I wouldn't be as big of a deal."  
  
"Don't try to decide right now," Kurt says. "Everything that's happening to you here is still so new to you, Blaine. Spend some time getting used to that before you start planning the next four years of your life for real, okay? Don't worry about any of us. Just find out what's right for you."  
  
"I know," Blaine says. "But whatever I do, it doesn't change the fact that for at least one semester, I'm going to be stuck missing you."  
  
"I'm still here right now," Kurt offers, uncertain. "Do you – do you want to go do something? Like the movies?"  
  
"Really Kurt?" Blaine says, smirking. "That's how you're going to help me solve this?  _21 Jump Street_. Again?"  
  
"Blaine," Kurt's voice is clipped and unimpressed. "For the last time, I said Channing Tatum is cute, not that I want to marry him. Besides, if you want good, solid advice about the future, you could do a lot worse than the good people at 21 Jump Street. They care about the youth of America."  
  
Blaine throws a pillow in Kurt's face, who retaliates by tackling him to the bed and tickling his sides. They never make it to the movie, but neither of them are too upset.  
  
***  
  
The media interest only intensifies now as the trial gets closer, syncing up nicely with his anxiety about the trial. He starts leaving the room when the TV gets turned on and looking the other direction when he sees a newspaper for fear he'll see his or Tom's face looking back at him. The breaking point finally comes after a meeting with the prosecution when they remind him about using his medical history to corroborate testimony.  
  
"I'm really sorry, Blaine," the lawyer says, even though Blaine doesn't think he sounds nearly sorry enough. "But you won't be the one who has to talk about it, and we have to present it in court. It's almost impossible for you to have contracted it in any other situation but the one Brenner is on trial for. It's one of the only damning pieces of evidence we have. It's circumstantial, but there's very little he can do to defend himself against it."  
  
Blaine spends the rest of the day hardly talking to anyone and unable to look Kurt in the eye.   
  
"Are you sure you're okay?" he keeps asking. Blaine just smiles vaguely in his direction and nods reassuringly, even though Kurt never looks reassured. Blaine knows his boyfriend is only worried, but he can't talk about this right now, not without crying, and he can't look upset or angry, like this is all too much for him in case someone starts fucking blogging about how he's unstable and could be an unreliable witness. Kurt thinks he's being paranoid, but Blaine doesn't want anything to go wrong. He has nightmares about getting on the stand and hurting the case more than he helps it, because the defence makes him look violent, or like a liar, or a slut, or delinquent.   
  
By the time he gets to his next session with Dr. Hong he's exhausted from trying to act like he's okay with where his life is going. He ends up hunched in on himself with his hands over his face, crying the entire hour as she rubs his shoulder and makes him cup after cup of fresh tea that goes completely untouched. He still hasn't managed to get a single word out by the end of the session, so Dr. Hong marches him to the front desk as soon as the hour is up to schedule an emergency appointment . He's in slightly better shape when he's sitting in her office again that Saturday, leaning back in his chair and staring at the patterns on the ceiling as he talks.  
  
"I need to hide and there's nowhere I can go," he says.   
  
"What do you want to hide from?" she asks.  
  
"Everything. I want to be in control of my own life, and that still isn't happening. Things were supposed to be better now that I've gotten away from him, but they're not."  
  
"Why do you feel you're not in control, Blaine?"  
  
Blaine snorts.  
  
"Because I'm not? They're going to be talking about my fucking herpes on the witness stand. I have to talk to everyone about all the things he used to do to me – things I never wanted anyone to find out about, and then when I'm finished, some shithead lawyer is going to start trying to make me look like a sociopath who can't be trusted just to save Tom from getting into as much trouble as he deserves. It's not my fault but he's still making sure I'm the one who's getting punished. He's still in charge of everything."  
  
"Our legal system has a lot of flaws," Dr. Hong admits. "It's not right that you're the one who feels like you're being put on trial, but as terrible as that is, Tom can't control you. Not in the court and certainly not outside of it."   
  
"He can just get the lawyers and the journalists to do it for him," Blaine says. "Ever since that video got leaked, people keep trying to make me look like I'm a spoiled little brat doing this for the attention, and whenever I go outside, all I can think is, 'God I hope no one's watching me today.' I didn't want attention. I wanted to feel like there was more to my life than what he's made of it. I wanted to take control back and now I've got less than ever."  
  
"Do you ever talk to anyone else about this?" Dr. Hong asks. "Like your family or your friends?"  
  
Blaine only shakes his head.  
  
"Not much," he answers. "I have trouble explaining the way I'm feeling at the best of times, and everything about how I feel about Tom lately is such a mess. Everyone's upset right now, waiting for something to happen. I don't want to make them feel any worse than I normally do."  
  
"You think you make your family feel bad?"  
  
"I think they don't know me," Blaine says. "I don't mean like they hate me or anything. Most days I know they love me, but they don't know me either. They're always going to be disappointed that I wasn't found when I was seven and that I grew up without them. Sometimes I can't handle looking at them because all I want to do is apologize for not finding them sooner. Then I feel like banging my head against the wall because I'm supposed to be past all of that now."  
  
"But they don't hold it against you," Dr. Hong says. "You've told me before you've sorted that out."  
  
"But  _I_  hold it against me," Blaine says. "And I don't understand how they  _can't_. I'm the one whose thrown their world into chaos. It's all I've ever done to them. The more the trial fucks up their life, the worse I feel about what I've done to them. They try to hide how bad it is, and how worried they are, but you can't hide something like that. Even if Tom rots in jail until the day he dies, they're still going to be waiting for me to disappear again, like I'm not real, or it can't last. And the  _really_  shitty thing is they're right. My friends who are graduating on time are all planning their futures around me and are getting ready to go to university or travel and I'm stuck in Westerville trying to decide if I should start doing the same or just stay here for the next four years because I broke my parents so much they have to watch me walk down the sidewalk to make sure I reach my car okay."  
  
"Blaine," Dr. Hong starts, but Blaine cuts her off.   
  
"I know," he says. "Okay? I know. I'm not the one who did anything wrong, but it's still how I feel. I feel like I should have tried harder to get out, and sooner. Everyone keeps saying they understand why I didn't, but I wish someone would explain it to me. I don't blame the papers for not getting it. I don't get it, either."  
  
"Would you like to talk about that right now?" Dr. Hong suggests. "What you want to do after high school?"  
  
Blaine shrugs. It sounds better than wasting yet another session of talking himself in circles about his guilt complex.   
  
"What do your friends think you should do about college?" She asks. "Have you asked any of them for advice?"  
  
"I can't really talk about it to Kurt," Blaine admits. "I mean, I try to change the subject when he starts talking about it. He's trying really hard to give me space to make my own decisions, but I know what he  _wants_  and I don't know if I can give that to him. I'm scared that whatever I do will destroy what we have, because none of my options are going to make either one of us completely happy. It's like once we leave this bubble we're in right now, where all the shitty things we're dealing with are things no normal couple has to work through, any  _real_  relationship problem is going to blow us out of the water."  
  
"No couple is completely happy, Blaine," Dr. Hong says. "Everyone fights, everyone has at least one blowout where someone sleeps on the couch for a few nights, no matter how well they work together. You and Kurt will have a lot of problems once the trial is over, but just keep doing what you do with your problems now: talk. The main reason normal couples fall apart is because communication stops. God knows it's why  _I_  got divorced."  
  
"Should you be admitting that to me?" Blaine asks, but Dr. Hong seems unconcerned.  
  
"I'm a child psychologist, not a marriage counsellor," she says, before persevering with the main subject. "Blaine, if you're really worried about what you should do for college, talk to some of your friends about it,  _not_  just Kurt. Get some ideas and advice from people who aren't as close the situation as the two of you and your family are. Everyone has to leave home sometime, Blaine. Believe it or not, the anxiety you're feeling right now would still be there if you had never been taken. Advice from people with emotional distance can really help put things in perspective."  
  
"You have emotional distance," Blaine says. "You give good advice. Can't you just tell me what I should do with the rest of my life?"  
  
"My advice is to talk to other friends," Dr. Hong shoots back. "I already got your boyfriend into bed with you Blaine. If I keep dictating your life for you, this relationship will devolve into a Dr. Frankenstein and his monster scenario. Believe, we don't want to go there."  
  
"I ask for help and you're throwing last night's horror marathon in my face?" Blaine asks, incredulously.  
  
"Did you watch it, too?" She asks, completely unashamed.  
  
"Kurt tried to make me," Blaine says. "But watching horror movies with him and Finn is exhausting. They always spend hours afterwards perfecting their zombie defense plans, and if I'm not going to get any sleep I'd prefer it be for better reasons."  
  
"You're welcome," Dr. Hong smirks, before sobering up slightly to add, "Seriously Blaine. Talk to some people. Your friends, and maybe the counsellor at your school. Your future needs to be your decision, but it shouldn't be something you decide all by yourself."

***

The week heading into the trial is hell for Blaine. After a few nights he gives up on trying to sleep properly at all and Dr. Hong arranges for him to get some medication to help him through the nights, even though he hates the way it makes him feel in the morning. It's still better than night after night of nightmares where he's on the witness stand and no one believes him, and he gets in trouble for being a liar and hurting an innocent man. In the worst ones his parents give him back. He'll stop taking the drugs after the trial is over, but for now he needs at least one part of his life where his paranoia isn't taking over every aspect of his psyche.  
  
He tries to distract himself by taking Dr. Hong up on her advice and asking people besides Kurt and his parents what they'd do next winter if they were him, and how they chose what to do after graduation. David seems thrilled when Blaine mentions it the night he calls to wish everyone luck on the trial, but he doesn't have much to say that's particularly helpful.  
  
"The academic advisor gave me a list of schools my freshman year that 'suited my scholastic aptitude,'" he says. "I read the brochures and picked the school I liked the best. I didn't have to do a lot of soul-searching, I just had to keep my grades up and write a really good letter."  
  
"You didn't care about leaving home?" Blaine asks, hoping he doesn't sound too pathetic. David doesn't seem to notice if he does.  
  
"Sometimes I get a little homesick around midterms," he says. "But it's not too bad. I talk to them a lot and everyone has to leave home sometime, right?"  
  
Quinn is a little better, but only marginally. She's still drunk on success after getting accepted to Yale and is obviously struggling to see beyond her own dreams coming true to actually manage empathy.  
  
"When you see something you want, take it," she says. "People always used to tell me that I'll look back on high school as the best times of my life. We both know that's crap, so I plan on college being my do-over."  
  
"No more breakdowns and pink hair?" Blaine asks. She just knocks into his shoulder with her own.  
  
"I was never as bad off as everyone thinks I was," she says. "I might have gotten lost for a while, but I've never lost my drive to get out of this place. Lima hasn't done me any favours, my mother likes me better from a distance, and the only thing my daddy needs to give me is tuition. I'll miss glee and my friends but they're not enough to keep me in a place full of nothing but mistakes and painful memories."  
  
"You think I should move out next winter," Blaine says.  
  
Quinn shrugs noncommittally.  
  
"You have to decide that," she says. "I just think we both deserve better than what we're getting."  
  
***  
  
Detective Warren is back in Westerville to testify along with Detective Carter. When she sees him the day before he asks her if it's normal to feel like he's the one who's done something wrong, because from everything the prosecution's been telling him, that's all the defence will try to prove once he gets on the stand. He's not sure why he's talking to her about any of it. A part of him wonders why she's so good at making him tell her every little thing going through his head without even trying to coerce it out of him, but there's just something about Detective Warren that makes him  _want_  to tell her things. Like she's safe in a way few other people are. He knows she won't placate him with a meaningless word of comfort instead of talking to him frankly. It's unsettling to be so open to someone he barely knows, but still reassuring in a strange way. Or, it's reassuring to a point.  
  
"You feel like you're the one getting punished because you are," she says, shortly. She sounds distracted and tired. "We have a legal system that tries to protect everyone and ultimately helps no one."  
  
Blaine only stares at her, shocked by the blunt, angry words. She deflates a little when she sees his expression and tries to explain.  
  
"In a perfect world there wouldn't be liars, Blaine. People would own up when they did something wrong so they could be properly dealt with, and people wouldn't tell stories to satisfy their own personal grudges. People like you wouldn't go into court waiting to be hurt all over again while lawyers try to convince strangers to make value judgments about your character. Luckily you're very young, and you were heartbreakingly young when this all started, so they'll likely go easier on you, but..."  
  
She trails off, so Blaine finishes the thought for her.  
  
"But they're still going to make me look like a liar."  
  
"Probably," she agrees. "I'd like to laugh it off and say it's because defence lawyers are bad people, but that's not really fair, either. There are plenty of guys who never deserve to see the outside of a cell again, but there are others sitting in prisons because people just as disgusting as Brenner aren't afraid to use the law to get what they want, even if it destroys the system. People go into court, swear an oath to tell the truth and then lie their faces off, even about things as horrible and destructive as rape, and when they're found out, it hurts people like you, because now there might be someone on that jury expecting you to be a liar. You're paying for someone else's crime before they even pass a verdict."  
  
"Wow," Blaine says after a long moment of silence. "Is there something  _you'd_  like to talk about? You seem kind of..."  
  
"Preoccupied?" Detective Warren offers, before forcing a fraction of a smile onto her features. Blaine can see her visibly trying to relax the tension in her shoulders. "Sorry. I'm not really at liberty to give out details, but things haven't been fun at work lately. The police were dragged into the middle of a custody battle and things weren't adding up. The mother admitted she'd been feeding the daughter lines to get back at the father for leaving and now I don't know what's going to happen to that kid."  
  
Her jaw is tight and her hands are balling up into fists as she talks.  
  
"She'll get a slap on the wrist compared to what should happen after ruining another human being's life, and I get to come here to testify at a trial where I get to listen to people try to convince a jury that you're as full of it as she was."  
  
"Wow," Blaine says again, because she's going into this expecting the exact same thing he is and he should be panicking but mostly he's fighting the urge to give her a hug. "Are you okay? You look like you want to punch things."  
  
She blinks a few times and smiles at him for real when she says,  
  
"You know, I really do like you. I'm fine. Promise. I just feel like I've been having a lot of cases like this lately and I'm getting tired of how they play out once I stop working on them. I don't know, maybe I need a change of scenery."  
  
"You think somewhere else would be better?" Blaine asks, because things don't look so hot for him in Westerville, either.  
  
"Probably not," Detective Warren admits. "But sometimes dealing with the same problems in a new place doesn't make them seem so impossible. Maybe I've had enough of crime-fighting in West Virginia."  
  
"They'd love you in Ohio," Blaine offers, but she only laughs at him.  
  
"No offense, Blaine, but if I put West Virginia behind me, I want  _at least_  a state between us."  
  
"Where would you go?" Blaine asks. She shrugs.  
  
"I don't know," she says. "I lived in New York until my teens. I always loved it there."  
  
"My boyfriend's going to school in New York in the fall," he says. Warren grins at him, suddenly smug.  
  
"I see," she says. "So Kurt  _is_  your boyfriend now. I thought the name they were throwing around on the news sounded familiar. Good. I'm happy things are working out."  
  
"For now," Blaine mutters. At her raised eyebrow, he adds, "I don't know what I'll do after high school. I don't know what will happen to us, either."  
  
"No one ever does," Warren says, sympathetically. "But whatever you two decide, be as selfish as you can. Both of you."  
  
"That's the advice you're going with?" Blaine asks. "Really?"  
  
"Trust me," she says. "Pick what's going to make you happiest. If you're both selfish in the same direction, perfect. If not, it's better not to drag things out. Be as happy as you can, as soon as you can."  
  
Blaine falls asleep that night without having a nightmare about Tom for the first time in weeks. Instead he spends his dreams sitting and staring at blank walls, with shadows looming up behind him so close they almost brush against his back, as he worries about what it means if the thing that makes him happiest isn't an idea or school or plan at all. He wonders what it means if the thing that makes him happiest is Kurt.  
  
***  
  
He gets to the courthouse early the next morning with his mom and dad. The lawyer calls at an ungodly hour and asks that they get there as early as possible so there's time to discuss a last-minute change in proceedings before everything starts. Thankfully Cynthia is spending the night at a friend's house, because he's too jumpy to deal with Cynthia at the breakfast table, demanding why he's not giving her enough attention as she retells her dreams from the night before in excruciating detail. He works at keeping his face as blank and emotionless as possible when they wade through the reporters taking pictures and yelling to get their attention. They've been banned from the courthouse but that hasn't stopped them from getting as good a view as possible on the property line. He hopes they won't still be waiting when they're leaving at the end of the day.  
  
In the courthouse, neither lawyer is anywhere to be found, and no one seems to know where they are.   
  
"Why would he bother to call last night if he wasn't even going to be here to talk?" Mom asks, a little worriedly as they finally give up and go into the courtroom to find seats. "I hope everything's alright."  
  
Blaine doesn't answer, just sits with his hands clenched tightly in his lap, barely registering when Mom reaches over to squeeze them reassuringly. Dad is planning to sit through every day of the trial, and Blaine can't begin to imagine how he'll do it, when Blaine isn't even certain how  _he'll_  manage the first half hour. An entire day in the same room with Tom again feels like one of his nightmares.   
  
He knows nothing will happen in a room full of people, that he has nothing to be afraid of, and he's not, not exactly. But seeing Tom's face again, in person, after almost an entire year of not getting hit or hurt or forced to do anything he doesn't want to do is overwhelming and intimidating, no matter what the logical part of his brain keeps trying to tell the rest of him. If he's so nervous about just  _seeing_  Tom, he has no idea how he'll actually testify in the same room as him.   
  
The room is filling up with people now. He recognizes a few of the faces, although the lawyer is still nowhere to be seen. Detective Warren is sitting a couple seats away, and Mr. and Mrs. Evans are just behind them. Stevie isn't there and won't be showing up later on, either. The actual trial for his case is going to happen a few weeks after Blaine's, but any testimony that he gives for either one will probably be pre-recorded the night before and played to the jury when the time comes, like Wes predicted. Blaine's happy at least one of them will get to avoid the crowds and the chaos of the trial, but he can't help wishing the offer had been extended to both of them.  
  
The lawyers for the defence and prosecution show up at almost the same time. They look nervous and a little flustered. Blaine wants to find out what's happening but before he gets the chance, the side door opens and his eyes register a brief flash of prison orange before he starts and turns away. He stares intently at his hands as the bailiff leads Tom past and everyone gets settled into place. By the time the judge has taken a seat, Blaine manages to work up enough courage to risk a glance. Tom is looking straight at him. He smiles at Blaine briefly – almost sadly – when their eyes meet. Blaine's stomach lurches and he quickly goes back to staring at his fingernails. Things have just gotten started and already Blaine doesn't know how much more he can handle.  
  
It feels like he might be having a panic attack, the droning voices at the front of the room sliding in and out of focus against his will. He shakes his head a little, trying to clear it so he can concentrate on what's happening around him. Tom is whispering something to his lawyer. They seem to be having some sort of last-minute debate about something. Blaine frowns. They've had months to get ready for this morning. There's no reason for the defence lawyer to look this unprepared.  
  
"Mr. Wallace?" The judge says, impatiently and possibly repeating himself. "How does your defendant plead?"  
  
"Your honour," the lawyer says, finally turning away from Tom. "My client requested late last night that he would like to accept the plea bargain that had been offered to him previously."  
  
The judge raises her eyebrows before looking at Mr. MacFarlane, the prosecution lawyer.  
  
"You were aware of this?" She asks.  
  
Mr. MacFarlane nods, saying, "Mr. Wallace informed me early this morning. Given the circumstances and the emotional well-being of the witnesses, we would still be more than willing to offer the plea bargain to Mr. Brenner."  
  
"Am I to understand that this offer includes Mr. Brenner pleading guilty to all charges of kidnapping and assault?"  
  
Blaine stops listening again as the lawyers start talking in earnest. If he thought his head was swimming a few minutes ago, he was sadly uninformed. He feels like if he doesn't focus on his feet staying perfectly level on the ground he'll fall out of his seat. It's been such a long time since anyone has spoken to him about the possibility of a plea bargain, he'd forgotten it was even an option.  
  
His heart is hammering in his chest and as he sits in his seat as motionless as possible, he can feel the energy radiating off his parents in waves. He's obviously not the only one who wasn't expecting this. It's only when he finally manages to make his body start acting on the commands he's trying to give it and he forces himself to turn his head slightly to look at Tom again that the reality that this is actually happening really starts to sink in.   
  
He knows there was never much incentive for Tom to take the plea bargain in the first place – the only one the prosecution had been willing to offer only dropped one charge of sexual assault, the charges relating to prostituting and sexually exploiting minors, and about a quarter of the physical assault charges. This late in the game it seems ridiculous that Tom would even consider it – it's a little ridiculous that anyone seriously thought he'd consider it at any point. But Tom is merely staring somberly at the judge now, intently listening to what she says. He doesn't look back to Blaine again once, or do anything to indicate that there are people behind him at all. Blaine keeps staring at the back of his head, unsure if he's trying to will Tom to turn around, or to keep ignoring his presence. He doesn't realize he's shaking until Mom reaches out and sets a hand on his shoulder to rub at it softly.  
  
Individual implications of what this all means catch up with him one at a time, almost as if they're waiting in line for their turn to approach him. Tom is going to go to jail. For years – probably a longer period of time than Blaine was even with him. All of the sudden he can't remember the minimum jail time Tom is facing for the things that he's done. He knows that it must be for a very long time, but in his distracted state of mind, he can't begin to imagine why the sentence would need to be longer than eight years. For Blaine, eight years is over half the time he's been alive. For him, eight years that lasted so long they effectively erased most of his memories of the first seven. In Blaine's mind right now, the only thing he can think is that over eight years in prison would be just like being in prison for life. Eight years would just about cover it, but the longer he stares at the back of Tom's head, the harder he hopes for 80.  
  
He feels almost weightless now, like there's not enough oxygen getting to his brain. He can feel Mom's eyes on him, can sense how she keeps glancing at him every now and then, trying to sort out how he's handling what's happening in front of them. Blaine keeps staring ahead, fighting to keep his face blank like he has ever since he walked into the courthouse. He's not sure why, but he can't afford to lose control now, not when his world is going to pieces around him, even if there's a small voice in the back of his head telling him this is all for the best, that now he can hide from the people questioning him and his morals, that now no one is going to accuse him of wanting it or being dirty and a disgrace to his family. It's hard to listen to that voice when the rest of him is so scared.  
  
And he is scared, because he's been forcing himself to get ready for this one thing for so long, now that it's just disappeared in front of him, he has no idea what is going to happen to him. He doesn't know what he's supposed to be doing, and he hasn't felt this helpless since Tom locked him up in a bathroom in West Virginia and left him alone with his imagination for hours, terrified about what was going to happen and what he was going to be forced to do. He still doesn't know what Tom is going to do, and a small part of him wonders if this is all some big plan of Tom's to satisfy himself that Blaine is still his to control and scare and intimidate, that he can do anything at all, and Blaine will do exactly what he's doing right now: panic about what comes next and if he's going to get in too much trouble.  
  
When Tom is led out of the courtroom, he finally turns to face Blaine's direction again. For a long moment they stare at each other before Tom is pulled away and Blaine can't read the expression on the other man's face – apologetic maybe, but he doesn't know what Tom has to feel sorry for, what Tom is even capable of being sorry for. It feels like an elaborate trap of some sort, and Blaine knows it, but he can't do anything to get out of it.  
  
Mom is pulling slightly on his arm, trying to encourage him to his feet.  
  
"Are you okay?" she asks. Her voice is echoing in his ears. Everything around him is suddenly too loud and all Blaine can focus on is the movement of the crowd on all sides around him and the way Detective Warren is staring at him with a worried expression and that the Evanses are trying to catch his eye so they can talk to him and he can't be in this place anymore. If he doesn't leave now, he's going to go crazy.  
  
He shrugs off his mother's hand and pushes past everyone as he makes his way into the hall, heading straight for the first set of bathrooms he sees. He locks himself into one of the stalls and sits down heavily, burying his face in his hands. He's not sure how long he sits there with his head spinning, or when his hands become wet with tears he didn't know he'd been crying. There must be something so wrong with him to be reacting to what should be good news like this, but he can't stop. It feels like he's dying.  
  
At some point he somehow manages to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone, like there's only one person on the planet who can miraculously make this all go away, who can make him feel like a real person, even though Blaine knows the world doesn't work that way. It doesn't matter though. He just wants his boyfriend. It takes Kurt a few rings to answer, and Blaine wonders if he has to run out of a class before he can talk to him, face red as everyone stares as he leaves. But none of that matters when he the ringing stops and he hears the anxious, "Hello?" on the other end of the line.  
  
He doesn't answer, just listens to Kurt's voice as he tries to steady his breathing and straighten out his thoughts.  
  
"Blaine?" Kurt asks, quietly. "What's going on? Why are you calling so early?"  
  
Blaine still can't find the words he wants, the words he needs to explain everything that's happened in the last half hour, so he just mutters, "I'm sorry," and doesn't say anything else.  
  
"It's okay," Kurt says automatically. There's a brief pause as he speaks to someone who has evidently joined him wherever he is on campus right now to ask him something before he hesitantly turns his focus back to Blaine to ask,  
  
"Blaine? Can you tell me what's happening?"  
  
"I don't know," Blaine manages. "There's just too much."  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
"I think so?" Blaine grits out, his jaw too tight to work the way he wants it to. "Just... please don't go?"  
  
"Of course not," Kurt says, as Blaine wearily leans his head against the stall wall, listening to Kurt breathe on the other end of the line.  
  
***  
  
It takes a surprisingly long time for Dad to come get him. He's been on the phone with Kurt for over an hour when he hears a light tap on the stall door. After he says goodbye to Kurt and swings open the door, his dad smiles at him sympathetically and asks,  
  
"How are you doing?"  
  
"I honestly have no idea what I'm feeling right now."  
  
"This is definitely a surprise," Dad agrees.  
  
"Sorry for making you and Mom wait so long," Blaine says, but Dad just waves him off.  
  
"It worked out better this way," he says. "The press all think you snuck out the side entrance by now. They've almost all left."  
  
"Did they wait a long time?" Blaine asks, more out of a need to say something than a real desire to know the answer, which is good, because Dad stays silent. Blaine suddenly notices the tension in his father's shoulders and it starts to make him a little nervous.  
  
"What happened?" he asks.  
  
"It's not important right now," Dad says, but Blaine sees how his mouth tightens and the lines around his eyes seem to get deeper.  
  
"What happened?" he asks again.  
  
"What happened is you've had a  _very_  draining morning and it's not fair to pile anything else onto you before you've even left the courthouse."  
  
"Did he do something?" Blaine demands, his voice rising despite himself. "What did he do?"  
  
Dad puts his hand on the back of Blaine's neck and squeezes it gently.  
  
"It's okay, Blaine," he says, softly. "It's not going to change anything, except get him into more trouble. Brenner's got a lot of expectations he's going to have to live up to if he wants a lighter sentence and he's already screwing it up for himself. The person he's hurting most right now is him."  
  
"Dad," Blaine says, desperately. " _Please_."  
  
Dad sighs in defeat.  
  
"He released a statement through his lawyer. I don't what he thought he would gain by it, but I promise, it just created a buzz with the journalists because it's so unusual. It's not as bad as it sounds."  
  
***  
  
It's not as bad as it sounds because it's actually a whole lot worse. It's true when Dad says Tom is effectively shooting himself in the foot by making himself look like an asshole to the judge, but it's obvious to Blaine that this isn't about the judge at all. Not for the first time he wishes he didn't know Tom Brenner as well as he does.  
  
"He doesn't care about how long they're putting him in jail, Mom," he says when Mom tries to make him feel better once they've gotten back home. "He just wants to take me down with him."  
  
Mom can't seem to find a convincing argument against that, so she just makes an upset noise as she hugs him hard, watching the footage of the frankly beleaguered-looking lawyer on the courthouse steps getting ready to read his client's prepared statement.  
  
"My client would like to express his deepest and most sincere apologies to the two families that were hurt by his actions. However, for as sorry as he is for the pain caused to them, his first concern in all of this is Blaine. This plea was agreed to on the understanding that it would be of the greatest benefit to him. The statement he wanted me to give you says, 'I'm still deeply saddened by Blaine's decision to leave last year, even though I now understand that taking him when he was young was wrong. He is like a son to me and I've come to realize that if pleading guilty will make his transition into his new life easier, I owe him that much. For me, he will always come first.'"  
  
"He's making it look like he's doing me a favour," Blaine says. "Like he's trying to be the better person after a bad break up. As if enough people don't think I'm a liar already."  
  
"No one thinks he didn't kidnap you," Mom points out. "And even his lawyer looks like he'd rather be getting tortured than reading that garbage."  
  
"No," Blaine says, darkly. "They all just think I had a great time while I was there, like I'm so dysfunctional I was actually the only 7-year-old on the planet who thought getting raped was awesome, and now he's found a way to make even more people wonder if it's true. I don't get it. Hasn't he done enough? How miserable do I have to be before he's happy?"  
  
But aside from the usual homophobes on talk radio who think Blaine is a menace who turns ordinary men into dangerous pedophiles or whatever, most of the media treats the new development with disapproving fascination. Blaine would be grateful but all that really means is suddenly all the experts are being called back to do interviews about coercion and control tactics abusers resort to to keep the upper hand in relationships. He's back to being Poor Blaine in the news again, but now he's become Poor Blaine Who Was Hit By His Boyfriend, and half of the comments about the case turn it into a case of a runaway getting a guy charged with statutory rape. Blaine is so tired of people rewriting his life he wants to scream.  
  
***  
  
Giving a victim impact statement used to seem like something that wasn't going to happen until far into the future. The trial would have to happen and a verdict needed to be given before sentencing could even start. It felt like there would be time to deal with it later, maybe when Blaine's world wasn't so hard. But now that Tom has pled guilty, sentencing has been moved up and will be starting on Thursday. Blaine has no idea what he wants to say.   
  
This is his chance to explain to the people in the courtroom why he didn't leave before Stevie came and why Tom isn't making a great sacrifice for Blaine's sake by pleading guilty. His parents keep telling him that the only person he needs to talk to is the judge and not to worry about what anyone else is thinking about him, but that is so much easier to say than it is to do. Ever since this started people have been talking about him, and over him, and at him. He's never had the chance to fully explain what his life was like with Tom. Even when he was questioned by Detective Warren, he stuck to what happened and not how all the things he went through destroyed so much of his childhood. When he talks to Dr. Hong it's always to sort out some crisis he's in the middle of, forcing them to focus on tiny details instead of the bigger picture. What he says in the courtroom in a few days might be his only chance to vocalize the magnitude of what his life has been, and it's certainly the only chance he'll get to say any of it to Tom's face. He doesn't want to waste the opportunity.  
  
He's sitting at his desk staring hard at the blank word document open on his laptop in front of him, and has been doing so for half an hour as the importance of his task presses down on him, when he's distracted by shouting coming from the family room. He can hear Dad's voice trying to calm the angry one, which obviously belongs to Cynthia, but his sister is having none of it. Her voice raises in pitch and she becomes completely unintelligible as she gets started. Dad gets louder, too, and when Cynthia is almost screeching, he gives up trying to reason with her and barks out,  
  
"Cynthia that's enough. Go to your room."  
  
There's another squawk from Cynthia and then Blaine can hear her thundering up the stairs. He takes a moment to be impressed at how someone who doesn't weigh over 50 lbs soaking wet can make that much noise coming up a set of solidly built stairs, but before he thinks beyond that, he realizes that the angry footsteps coming down the hall aren't headed to her room at all.  
  
His door flies open, and Cynthia is standing on the threshold, her face a portrait of anger and frustration. It would be funny if it weren't for the desperate confusion also accompanying it. She looks like someone has told her to do university level calculus and that her whole future depends on getting the right answer. Her tiny little world has been knocked off its axis and she's obviously looking to vent her frustration on the nearest and most obvious target.  
  
"You're a liar," she spits. Blaine doesn't say anything, just stares at her tiny little body as it shakes with rage. He waits to see what she says next, shocked that he cares enough that the words sting as she says them. "You were supposed to be the best brother but now that you're here you're the worst. You don't deserve to be in this family."  
  
For a moment Blaine considers rolling his eyes and herding her out of the room, forcing their parents to deal with her again, but she's standing in front of him and tears are starting to roll down her cheeks and for the first time, Blaine looks at her like she's more than just a hurricane of energy and obnoxious behaviour. She looks like her world is going to pieces and she can't take it anymore. It's a feeling Blaine can relate to so strongly he can't bear the thought of writing it off and shutting her down. So he asks,  
  
"What did I do?"  
  
" _Nothing_ ," she hisses, her face contorting and her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "You're a liar and Mom and Dad don't even get mad at you, even though you ruin  _everything_. Being quiet when someone else needs to know things is another way to lie to them. My teacher told me when I asked her last week and Lola told me when I asked at Christmas time, but you never get in trouble.  _I_  get in trouble when I tell on you for keeping secrets and it's not fair! You're just a sad, sad boy who I'm not allowed to talk to or ask questions at or play with. I wish I had the brother in my head instead of the one really here because  _he_  doesn't ignore me and  _he_  doesn't hate me like you do."  
  
"I don't hate you," Blaine says, vaguely aware that he's looking at her like there's an alien crawling out of her chest. "I have a lot really bad things I'm trying to sort out, Cynthia. They aren't nice things, so I don't tell you about them, that's all."  
  
"I know they're not nice," Cynthia says. "But everyone else gets to know them and everyone else gets to help you feel better. Everyone is lying to me and it doesn't feel very good to me."  
  
Her voice breaks as she makes the most pathetic whimpering noise Blaine has ever heard in his life, which is also when he hears to footsteps of his father on the stairs, obviously now aware of the fact that Cynthia is yet again disobeying orders. He makes a split second decision and gets up, grabbing her arm and gently pulling her inside enough to shut the door before they can be interrupted. He carefully leads her to the bed and sits down beside her.  
  
"No one wants to make you feel bad, Cynthia," he tries. "You know that the reason we're not telling you everything is that if you know all of it you just get upset, right?"  
  
"I'm upset  _right now_ ," Cynthia sobs, almost sounding inconsolable but still curling into him the second he puts a tentative arm around her. "I just wanted to see if you would play a game with me and I can't even do that because you're too busy writing secrets."  
  
"This is because I won't play Monopoly or whatever with you?" Blaine asks, disbelieving, even though it would be just like his sister to treat a board game like the death of Santa.  
  
"Dad said you couldn't because you had to finish what you were doing by the end of the week but he won't even tell me what you're doing," Cynthia says. "I just wanted to help you finish faster and no one will let me."  
  
"Okay," Blaine says, slowly. It's starting to feel like he's got the ground back under him, at least a little. "You know they're keeping secrets from you because they love you, right? They don't want to scare you, that's all."  
  
"You're not scary," Cynthia scoffs, still feeling enough like herself to manage that.  
  
"Thanks," Blaine says. "But there are things that happened to me while I was gone that are really hard to understand. You're only seven, Cynthia."  
  
"Seven's big," Cynthia protests. "I'm not a baby, I know things."  
  
"Yeah, but there are some things you shouldn't  _have_  to know," Blaine tries again. "Tom Brenner took me away when I was seven, and I should have been having fun and being like all the other seven-year-olds, but he didn't let me. It's not good to know about those kinds of things too soon."  
  
"But you had to," Cynthia insists. "Why not me too? It's not fair to have to live where you're the only one who doesn't know."  
  
"You already know some of it," Blaine says, a little desperately. In his mind's eye he can see the conversation carrying on to its inevitable conclusion and he just hopes it doesn't end up with nightmares or getting yelled at by Mom and Dad. He can't even believe he's trying to sort out what exactly is safe to tell her and what he needs to leave out to make sure she still sleeps at night.  
  
"I know about stranger danger and that I'm supposed to run away when people try to make me go with them, or if they touch me so I feel creepy. When I asked Mom what that meant she said it was when people touch you where you go to the bathroom. That doesn't mean anything. No one does that. It's gross," Cynthia doesn't sound very impressed and Blaine distantly remembers about how all the lessons and talks his parents had with him about abuse didn't even begin to mentally prepare him for what happened, on any level. Maybe his sister has a point.  
  
"Grown ups do that," he says when he notices she's looking at him very pointedly, obviously waiting for an explanation. "Touch each other there for fun, I mean. It's not gross when you're old enough and feel like you want to, but if you don't want to do it it's terrible."  
  
"He touched you where you went to the bathroom."  
  
It's not even a question, just a statement laced with disgust, but she's not flinging herself away from him or throwing a fit either, so Blaine figures she's taking it fairly well.  
  
"He touched me all over," Blaine tries to find the right words, aware that Cynthia is still staring at him hard. "Sometimes it's not about where someone touches you, it's the way they're doing it that isn't right."  
  
"Am I touching you bad right now?" Cynthia demands. Her little face is starting to show slight signs of relief, like she's been waiting for answers to these questions for a very long time, probably even longer than she's known Blaine.  
  
"This is good," Blaine reassures her. "Bad touching is more about... Okay, you know what sex is right?"  
  
"I'm not stupid," Cynthia tells him, looking a little insulted.  
  
"And you know it doesn't have to just be a guy and a girl who have it, right?"  
  
" _Blaaaine_ ," Cynthia's voice is whiny and fully exasperated now, like she can't believe how dumb he's being.  
  
"Okay, okay," he relents. "But I didn't really know that when I was as old as you are, and that was bad, because when Tom touched me in a bad way it was because he wanted to have sex with me."  
  
"But he didn't, right? Because sex is for grown ups who want to make babies or who want to get babies."   
  
Cynthia sounds like she knows exactly what he's going to say and it makes him feel like he's destroying something in her that he can never take back when he says,  
  
"No, I had sex with him. He used to make me because he was a grown up and he was in charge and it didn't matter what I said or did, I couldn't make him stop."  
  
Cynthia does push away from him at that to protest,  
  
"You could too! All you had to do is tell Mom and Dad and they would have brought you back. You can't yell at me for saying that, because you know I'm right. I can't help if you're stupid."  
  
"I'm not going to yell at you," he says. "You're right. I could have found someone to take me back home where everything would have been okay again. Not right away, but a long, long time ago. Before you were born yet."  
  
"Why did you stay? Did you like it?"  
  
"I hated it," Blaine says firmly, and it's so much easier to sound decisive like this when he's dumbing it down to a level where  _he_  would have been able to understand it when he was just starting to live through it. "I stayed because I thought Mom and Dad hated me, and he made me scared to talk to anyone who wasn't him. I thought other people would hate me more than he did."  
  
"If he hated you why did he take you?"  
  
"I don't know," Blaine says. "Sometimes if felt like he just wanted someone he could hurt."  
  
"Did he hit you?" Cynthia asks. "I asked Lola at Christmas if you were hit when you were away, when they were talking about spanking kids, and Mom made me leave the room."  
  
"He hit me," Blaine confirms. "Not like spanking though. Not like what Lola was probably talking about. He would try to hurt me."  
  
"He broke your arm," Cynthia says, like she's just starting to understand why Blaine was so tired and sore when he first got back home. Blaine nods and there's a long pause before she says in a small voice, "I would have just left and made Mom and Dad take me back even if they didn't want me anymore. They wouldn't break my arm."  
  
"He told me they would just send me back," Blaine says. "I used to wish I'd never been born instead. Some days it felt better thinking I could have never existed."  
  
"I'm sorry," Cynthia whispers.  
  
"Why?" Blaine asks.  
  
"I used to wish you were never born, too. When I'd get in trouble for taking toys out of your room."  
  
"You wished I never existed because a kid you had never even seen kept you from playing with toys he wasn't even using," Blaine says, matter-of-factly. "That's not really bad, Cynthia. You didn't know me, you just didn't like the idea of me."  
  
"I wished you had never been born last Thursday," Cynthia's voice is sober, like she's giving a confession at a church. "And last night when Mom said I had to save the last piece of pie for you even when you said you weren't hungry."  
  
"Oh," says Blaine. "Well, that's... not nice."  
  
"I know," says Cynthia. "That's why I wished it, but I'm mostly sorry now. I promise I won't do it as much. Will you still answer me?"  
  
"What do you want to know?" Blaine asks, cautiously. He's still not even close to being willing to tell Cynthia everything, although he's pretty sure she doesn't know enough to ask the questions with especially traumatizing answers.  
  
"What was the meanest thing he did? I asked Mom before when you first came back because you were so frowny all the time and she told me not to ask silly questions. It's not a silly question, it's a good one and I want someone to tell me."  
  
Blaine is quiet for a really long time before he finally figures out how to answer in a way she'll understand.  
  
"He made me forget I was a person."  
  
She wrinkles her nose at him in confusion, so he obviously hasn't done a very good job at meeting her on her level.  
  
"He would beat me up and tell me mean things and force me to do bad things that I didn't want to do. Real people don't have to live like that. They can leave and say no and be treated the way they deserve. I was with him for such a long time I forgot I could do those things, even though I knew other people could. It was like I forgot that I was a real person."  
  
"That's really weird," Cynthia says.  
  
"It's really scary," Blaine corrects. "Especially when you come back here where everyone's normal, but no one realizes you're so different inside. They treat you like you know you're the same and nothing makes sense."  
  
"Are you better now?" Cynthia asks.   
  
Blaine only shrugs.  
  
"Sometimes," he says. "Sometimes I still feel like no one around me is treating me the right way, like they're making a mistake and I shouldn't be treated like I'm a part of this family, or like I deserve to have friends."  
  
"Well stop that," Cynthia says. "It's stupid."  
  
"Is that supposed to help?" Blaine asks.  
  
"Yeah," Cynthia's voice is defensive and hostile, like she knows she's not behaving the way she's supposed to but isn't prepared to stop without a fight. "I always tell when someone's acting dumb. So they aren't dumb after. It helps.  _I_  help."  
  
"Maybe you do," Blaine says, quietly.  
  
Cynthia preens a little before reaching over to the dresser and picking up Horton.  
  
"He's gross," she tells him. "We should give him a bath."  
  
"Okay," Blaine agrees, because there are worse things he could be doing on a school night when Kurt is busy studying for his APs. "Give me half an hour first though, okay? I have to finish writing something."  
  
***  
  
The first time Blaine speaks to the media about his past is the day Tom Brenner has been sentenced to three consecutive life sentences. He's pretty sure that Kurt keeps a file of the video hidden on his computer somewhere, even though he can't get him to admit it. His mom shows him some of the fallout in the days that follow, mostly he won't believe her when she says no one is being as spiteful towards him as he's convinced they must be. While it's true that there are still some people talking about how he's more manipulative than the pedophile who took him, and some speculation that he's going to end up using his "new celebrity" to sell his story, she's not wrong. For the most part it's all articles talking about how he deserves a chance to be a normal kid and that it's horrible that he felt the need to take something so painful to the public because "some people can't figure out that a seven-year-old or even a 16-year-old doesn't solve problems the same way a 60-year-old journalist does."   
  
He hadn't been planning on saying anything at all, but when he walked out of the courthouse when it all should have been over to see a host of cameras and microphones, desperate for footage they can twist around to suit their own means, something snaps. It's not that he's angry or frustrated, he's just had enough. He carefully pulls himself away from the arm his dad has wrapped around his shoulders and walks over to the reporters before anyone can say anything or try to talk him out of it. The flock of journalists look shocked and stare at him dumbly, forgetting their job descriptions the moment it looks like they won't have to be obnoxious to find a good sound bite.  
  
"Hi," he says, nervously. He has no idea what he's planning to say to these people, and is almost wondering if it would look really bad if he just turned around and walked back again, but then he thinks about Tom's statement, and the way people think it's suspicious and wrong that he's gay, and how no one ever gets to hear his side of things. He stays where he is and is silent another few seconds before finally taking a deep breath and continuing.  
  
"Um, I guess thanks? For helping my family keep looking for me for such a long time, I mean. But they know where I am now, so even though I'm glad you cared then, could you stop caring now? At least for a while? I wasn't happy where I was and I didn't want to be there, but I'm not going to explain myself to you, either. There are a lot of things you don't need to know about, and it would be nice if you didn't start making stuff up just because I'm not going to talk to you about any of it. I'm just... really tired of other people telling me who I am. I'm ready to find out for myself."


	7. Epilogue

**Now**  
  
 _"I can't believe you bought a room," Kurt is laughing at him as they stumble inside, but Blaine is pretty sure it's just the buzz from Puck's spiked punch talking.  
  
"I can't believe you're the one who suggested we crash the McKinley prom," Blaine counters.  
  
Kurt smiles a little goofily as he shrugs.  
  
"I love Dalton," he says, "but they need more lady lessons, or whatever they call them. It's not my idea of a fun time to sit and watch them try to dance with the Crawford Country Day girls. At least at McKinley I don't have as much secondary mortification."  
  
"But what if a chaperone had caught us?" Blaine asks. "You pushed us to take a very big risk tonight, Kurt."  
  
"How is that a risk at McKinley?" Kurt demands. "And we _ did _get caught! Or have you forgotten Ms. Pillsbury, Mr. Schue, Coaches Beast and Sylvester,_ and _Principal Figgins all stopping to say hi to us?"  
  
"Oh, the McKinley High commitment to maintaining student order and public safety," Blaine says smiling.  
  
Kurt laughs again, and it's kind of adorable because he's obviously drunker from breaking the rules than he is from the glass and a half of mildly-altered fruit punch he drank.  
  
"You're right though," Blaine adds. "They _ do _throw a better party than Dalton."  
  
"Well, they owe us a good party," Kurt says, his good mood dissipating as a frown suddenly settles across his features. "Especially after that crap they pulled on us at regionals."  
  
He sulks quietly for a half a moment before rushing to add,  
  
"I know, I know. You wouldn't have performed 'Hold Me' again after what happened the first time anyhow, even if Rachel hadn't pulled off that One Performance rule change. It's just the principle of the thing. And so typical of Rachel. That girl is completely – "  
  
"Kurt?" Blaine interrupts. "I got us a hotel room for the night. Stop talking about Rachel Berry."  
  
He pulls Kurt in for a kiss. It's as perfect as their kisses always are, especially once Kurt catches up with him and settles in with his arms wrapped around Blaine's neck, but it feels different this time. There's a nervous and impatient undercurrent of anticipation just under the surface that makes the whole room feel like it's buzzing as they grab at each other's jackets and stumble their way to the unfamiliar bed.  
  
Blaine's heart is racing. He doesn't know what to do with his hands. This is really going to happen. They have to slow down long enough to carefully take off their clothes, like always. Because sex is never a good enough reason to disrespect fashion. While Blaine waits for Kurt to strip to his underwear, he heads to the desk drawer and takes a couple long-stemmed glasses out of hiding before reaching into the small fridge to pull out a bottle.  
  
"How did you get champagne?" Kurt demands, getting that giddy "My Boyfriend is Being Romantic" expression on his face that always makes Blaine feel so much taller than he actually is.  
  
"It's insane, but Dad gave it to me."  
  
"_ Your _dad?" Kurt's voice is total disbelief.  
  
"I know," Blaine says. "I had to hear a _ long _speech about how drinking is an adult responsibility that isn't a game or a way to hide from my problems before he would let go of the bottle. For a minute I thought I'd forgotten I'd invented time travel and it was actually 10 months ago, but then he told me he knew about the hotel room and that I could only have the champagne if I promised not to drive after."  
  
Kurt's smile gets wider.  
  
"That's why you didn't have any of Puck's punch! Look at you, all trustworthy now. Perfect son."  
  
"Shut up," Blaine laughs, jumping slightly at the unfamiliar way the cork tries to violently jump out of the bottle. He carries over the full glasses a moment later, thankful Kurt isn't making him relive the far more humiliating conversation he had to endure when he asked Mom for a credit card to book the room in the first place. The things he goes through for his boyfriend.  
  
Kurt is obviously beyond thrilled at the idea of champagne, but can only perfunctorily sip at it for so long before he abandons it for making out with Blaine again, his strict rules for setting the mood for a perfect and romantic first time apparently sated. Blaine is almost impossibly nervous as they strip off their underwear and stretch out on the bed. Of course Kurt notices.  
  
"Are you sure you're okay?" He asks leaning back a little to take a long hard look at Blaine.  
  
Blaine nods, sliding his hand into Kurt's.  
  
"I want everything to be perfect, that's all," he shrugs. "It feels like I've never done this before."  
  
Kurt smiles and pulls him into another long kiss.  
  
"You haven't," he says, softly, his arms snaking out to wrap around Blaine's waist, pulling him closer. It's true that Blaine's never been on top before, which is what they've been planning for their first time ever since they first started talking about tonight potentially being _ the _night weeks ago. There's no question that, at least for this first time, it's only going to work with Kurt on the bottom, because sometimes Blaine still freaks out if Kurt touches him, no matter how much he wants what's happening. They've finally moved onto fingering after easing Blaine into it over an embarrassingly long period of time, but it's still hit-and-miss as to how Blaine is going to react. The last time it ended in honest-to-god crying. Not a panic attack, but a long, drawn-out, mood-killing crying jag when he couldn't stop sobbing over the idea that he'd lost something he'd never be able to get back, no matter how much he loves the person he's with.  
  
It's not that he's not ready to go further. They're both beyond ready to go further, but by now Blaine's resigned himself to the fact that just because you're ready to let go of your past, it doesn't mean your past is going to let go of you. He's accepted that. And now they are working around it. So Kurt is on the bottom, Blaine is on the top, and aside from the way his nerves jangle around inside of him if he lets himself think back to all the times being on the bottom hurt and starts to worry about doing anything to cause Kurt pain, he pretty much can't wait to get started. He's just not sure_ how _to start. He looks into Kurt's eyes and feels like there's a war going on inside him between two different Blaines. There's the used and broken kid who's sat scared in the dark for so long, who knows exactly what to do in this moment and wants to know what it would be like with someone who matters and who lets_ him _matter. Then there's the person he's become, who doesn't have any frame of reference for what comes next because this time it's with Kurt and Kurt is so different, so much_ better _than anyone he's ever known before, it's like his past isn't there anymore at all. There's just now and just them.  
  
He's not sure which Blaine he wants to let out, absently wonders if they can both stay. All he wants is for them to both stay here in the moment and somehow become a single unit. All he wants is everything.  
  
They go slowly. Blaine's never prepped anyone for something like this before, not even himself. He's always hated that part of his body, and tries to avoid touching it as much as possible, which is why Dr. Hong lectured him about making wise decisions in the bedroom for half-an-hour when he finally admitted to her about trying to force himself to be okay with anal and the resulting breakdown. This is different though. He's never minded fingering Kurt, he actually kind of likes it, because Kurt loves it, and this is just like the gentle teasing he's done so many times before now, but moreso. This isn't about pretending he's fine with something that still makes him feel dirty and uneasy. This is about doing something for Kurt's sake, and Kurt is certainly not complaining as he moans softly and lets his head fall back to show off the delicate line of his neck, a stark counterpoint to the way he almost aggressively pushes back onto Blaine's fingers. Not that Blaine is surprised by this enthusiasm. Ever since the first time Blaine accidentally brushed against the rim of his boyfriend's asshole and Kurt literally went weak in the knees, Blaine's had the uneasy feeling that he must have missed out on getting an important set of gay nerve endings that makes hands all over his ass feel _ that _awesome.  
  
Kurt lies back and lets Blaine take as much time as he wants at first, but when Blaine pulls out to get more lube and add a third finger, he starts when he feels Kurt's soft dry hands wrap around his slick trembling ones.  
  
"Can I try something?" he asks, eagerly. Blaine nods dumbly, willing to give Kurt a kidney when he asks in that breathy, hitching voice that only comes out when he's really turned on. Kurt takes the lube and pours some onto two of his own fingers before spreading his legs even wider and guiding Blaine back to his hole. There's more initial resistance this time. Blaine's had four fingers in Kurt at once before, but they've never gone from two to four right away like this. Kurt's face creases in discomfort for a moment, and Blaine wants to pull his hand away and start kissing away the pained expression, but Kurt can sense his hesitation and holds onto his wrist with his free hand, not giving him the chance.  
  
"It's okay," he murmurs softly, and a few minutes later the spasms he can feel coming from Kurt from the inside out lessen and his face goes back to smooth and relaxed. When he opens his eyes he gasps out a laugh and just says, "Oh my god."  
  
Blaine laughs back.  
  
"It feels so strange when it's not just me," he says.  
  
"Well _ I'd _feel better if I wasn't the only one doing all the work," Kurt says, pointedly, as he starts to lazily slide his fingers in and out, the movement tight and insistent against Blaine's own.  
  
"Oh. Sorry," he says as he starts moving alongside him. Before long he falls into sync with Kurt's movements, and pushing into that close heat with fingers that aren't his own gets him almost painfully hard, like Kurt taking that much more control over his body makes Blaine feel less like he's imposing and more like he's joining in. When he starts to push hard against Kurt's prostate and feels Kurt jerk sharply under him and start to groan out, "More please more" like he doesn't even know he's talking at all, Blaine feels like he's won the lottery.  
  
He slips back and has the condom on before Kurt is even fully aware of what's happened, which earns Blaine a mildly disapproving glare for making Kurt miss out on even a second of the action. He seems to be forgiven in the next second though, when Kurt takes the lube again and pours it liberally onto Blaine's cock, carefully spreading it all over.  
  
The cold and the contact makes Blaine's brain short out for a second. When the fog in his head clears and he remembers where he is, Kurt is laying underneath him, resting on his elbows and smirking at him, practically preening over the power he wields. Blaine rolls his eyes and pushes him back down onto his back, fussing for a minute to make sure Kurt looks as comfortable as possible. They'd only briefly debated doing this on hands and knees for the first time before Kurt shot it down.  
  
"It's okay if it hurts a little more at the beginning," he'd said. "I want to see you."  
  
Back in the present, he carefully pulls up Kurt's legs and tries to help settle them in a position that will make it feel less awkward, a task which turns out to be impossible. When Kurt braces a leg against Blaine's shoulder, he's shocked by the weight of it as it rests against him. Nothing has ever felt this real before.  
  
It's still awkward and almost too close when he finally lines up and starts to ease himself inside. For half a second, he has the horrible thought that he hasn't prepped Kurt well enough, he feels so impossibly tight around him. He's about ready to pull out so they can try this entire process over again, when he feels Kurt's hands gently cup his ass, holding him in place again, making Blaine wonder if his boyfriend really _ can _read his mind.  
  
"You worry about me too quickly," Kurt whispers, voice strained but affectionate. "Just give me a second. It'll get better. How does it feel?"  
  
"Like my penis is leading the way into adulthood and I don't know what I'm doing."  
  
He does pull out then, because Kurt's legs fall to the side and he's laughing so hard that he's shaking, making it impossible to stay in.  
  
"You're so perfect sometimes," Kurt manages when he's calmed down a little.  
  
"What about you?" Blaine asks. "How did _ you _feel?"_  
  
 _"It hurts more than I expected," Kurt says. "But not how I expected. Do you want to keep going?"_  
  
 _"Do you?" Blaine asks, warily._  
  
 _Kurt answers by way of leaning back up onto his elbows and kissing him for several long seconds before pointedly sliding his leg back onto Blaine's shoulder._  
  
 _"You would have made such a hot cheerleader," Blaine manages, before manipulating Kurt's ass back into position._  
  
 _It's easier the second time, even though Blaine still inches in at an almost painfully slow pace. Every now and then he feels Kurt's body twitching underneath his again, as he gets used to the new sensations and strains. His features keep shifting in surprise. Blaine understands the feeling. He's never felt anything like this before: heat and Kurt both pressing around his cock like a vice, the smoothness of the condom easing the worst of the friction but almost none of the dizzying closeness. Kurt's eyes are closed tightly, like he's focusing hard on trying to remember something, possibly breathing._  
  
 _Finally Blaine bottoms out and goes still, giving Kurt as much time as he needs, no matter how strong his instinct to start moving becomes. When the tension in his face eases a little, Blaine leans down to kiss Kurt on the cheek and then the mouth. Kurt moans as his leg drops off Blaine's shoulder to wrap around his waist. They kiss languidly for a few minutes before Kurt starts gently rocking beneath him, signaling him to move. When Blaine complies Kurt pulls his head away and lets it fall back to the bed again. His eyelashes are wet._  
  
 _"Am I going too fast?" Blaine asks. "Do you need me to slow down?"_  
  
 _"Don't stop," Kurt gasps as a tear escapes down the side of his face. "Please don't stop."_  
  
 _"Is something wrong?" Blaine tries again._  
  
 _"No, it's perfect," Kurt says, running a hand up and down Blaine's arm. He laughs a little shakily, uneven from the motion rocking their bodies before adding, "God. I told myself I wasn't going to be this person. It's just... this."_  
  
 _Somehow Blaine knows what he means. They've barely started and Blaine's never felt so connected to another person before, physically or emotionally. When he pushes forward again, Kurt's eyes open. His pupils are blown wide and his cheeks are flushed as he pushes back harder to meet Blaine's thrusts. His eyes are the most brilliant explosion of blue and green. Blaine has never seen anything more beautiful._  
  
 _They don't last that long. Kurt's body is so tight, and the feelings are so powerful and unexpected, neither of them end up having much to brag about in the stamina department. Blaine reaches down between Kurt's legs and starts to pull on his cock when he realizes how close they both are. Kurt tightens around him and Blaine's head goes fuzzy again as he slumps against Kurt, hips snapping forward._  
  
 _Kurt finishes a few moments later, and Blaine is disproportionately pleased with himself when he realizes his hand never stopped moving. Once the world properly comes back into focus, he pulls out as gently as he can, Kurt wincing slightly despite all his efforts. He lets Kurt reach down and carefully pull off the condom, tying it off only a little awkwardly._  
  
 _He stops abruptly when he leans over the side of the bed to throw it out._  
  
 _"Oh," he says, laughing a little at his own surprise at the discomfort._  
  
 _"Did you think you wouldn't notice?" Blaine asks, amused as he takes the condom and throws it away himself._  
  
 _"Shut up," Kurt says, mildly, pulling Blaine back in for another kiss before looking at him expectantly._  
  
 _"We're young," he says. "The night's just started, and all the experts say we should enjoy our teenage response times while we still have them. When do you think we can go again?"_  
  
 _Blaine just laughs as he wraps his arms around Kurt before settling their lips back against each other. Blaine never wants to get tired of how good just kissing feels. He waits for the familiar slow burn of anxiety and guilt to creep in, just like it's always done whenever he used to have sex. It doesn't come. Kurt is smiling at him like they've just told each other some amazing secret, and maybe they have, because this still doesn't feel like anything Blaine's done before._  
  
 _He feels like he's floating, no one there with him except Kurt, and the realization that this contentment and peacefulness that is washing over him in waves isn't wishful thinking or his mind lulling him into a sense of false security. It's the start of something new, another piece of his life falling into place, pushing him somewhere he can see himself as more than who he was or who he should have been. For the first time he feels like he's in a place where it's finally okay to be happy._


End file.
